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diff --git a/32308-8.txt b/32308-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c729d8f --- /dev/null +++ b/32308-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18372 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Library of the World's Best literature, +Ancient and Modern, Vol. 12, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Library of the World's Best literature, Ancient and Modern, Vol. 12 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Charles Dudley Warner + +Release Date: May 9, 2010 [EBook #32308] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + [Illustration: _JAVANESE ILLUMINATED MANUSCRIPT._ + + The origin of the Oceanic dialects, and of those of India + beyond the Ganges more especially the civilized idioms of the + Indian Archipelago, is referred to a language which was that + of an unknown people inhabiting the island of Java. From this + primitive language the modern Javanese is supposed to be + immediately derived. Javanese literature consists of poems, + dramas, songs, and historical and religious writings. The + accompanying facsimile is from a mythological-religious tract + written upon a vegetable paper of native manufacture, and + ornamented with grotesque drawings.] + + + + + LIBRARY OF THE + WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE + ANCIENT AND MODERN + + + CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER + + EDITOR + + + HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE LUCIA GILBERT RUNKLE + GEORGE HENRY WARNER + + ASSOCIATE EDITORS + + + Connoisseur Edition + + VOL. XII. + + + NEW YORK + THE INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY + + + + + Connoisseur Edition + + LIMITED TO FIVE HUNDRED COPIES IN HALF RUSSIA + + _No_. .......... + + + Copyright, 1896, by + R. S. PEALE AND J. A. HILL + _All rights reserved_ + + + + + THE ADVISORY COUNCIL + + + CRAWFORD H. TOY, A. M., LL. D., + Professor of Hebrew, HARVARD UNIVERSITY, Cambridge, Mass. + + THOMAS R. LOUNSBURY, LL. D., L. H. D., + Professor of English in the Sheffield Scientific School of + YALE UNIVERSITY, New Haven, Conn. + + WILLIAM M. SLOANE, PH. D., L. H. D., + Professor of History and Political Science, + PRINCETON UNIVERSITY, Princeton, N. J. + + BRANDER MATTHEWS, A. M., LL. B., + Professor of Literature, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY, New York City. + + JAMES B. ANGELL, LL. D., + President of the UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN, Ann Arbor, Mich. + + WILLARD FISKE, A. M., PH. D., + Late Professor of the Germanic and Scandinavian Languages + and Literatures, CORNELL UNIVERSITY, Ithaca, N. Y. + + EDWARD S. HOLDEN, A. M., LL. D., + Director of the Lick Observatory, and Astronomer, + UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, Berkeley, Cal. + + ALCÉE FORTIER, LIT. D., + Professor of the Romance Languages, + TULANE UNIVERSITY, New Orleans, La. + + WILLIAM P. TRENT, M. A., + Dean of the Department of Arts and Sciences, and Professor of + English and History, UNIVERSITY OF THE SOUTH, Sewanee, Tenn. + + PAUL SHOREY, PH. D., + Professor of Greek and Latin Literature, + UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO, Chicago, Ill. + + WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL. D., + United States Commissioner of Education, + BUREAU OF EDUCATION, Washington, D. C. + + MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, A. M., LL. D., + Professor of Literature in the + CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA, Washington, D. C. + + + + + TABLE OF CONTENTS + + VOL. XII + + + LIVED PAGE + DENIS DIDEROT 1713-1784 4689 + From 'Rameau's Nephew' + + FRANZ VON DINGELSTEDT 1814-1881 4704 + A Man of Business ('The Amazon') + The Watchman (same) + + DIOGENES LAERTIUS 200-250 A. D.? 4711 + Life of Socrates ('Lives and Sayings of the Philosophers') + Examples of Greek Wit and Wisdom: Bias; Plato; Aristippus; + Aristotle; Theophrastus; Demetrius; Antisthenes; + Diogenes; Cleanthes; Pythagoras + + ISAAC D'ISRAELI 1766-1848 4725 + Poets, Philosophers, and Artists Made by Accident + ('Curiosities of Literature') + Martyrdom of Charles the First ('Commentaries on the + Reign of Charles the First') + + SYDNEY DOBELL 1824-1874 4733 + Epigram on the Death of Edward Forbes + How's My Boy? + The Sailor's Return + Afloat and Ashore + The Soul ('Balder') + England (same) + America + Amy's Song of the Willow ('Balder') + + AUSTIN DOBSON 1840- 4741 + BY ESTHER SINGLETON + On a Nankin Plate + The Old Sedan-Chair + Ballad of Prose and Rhyme + The Curé's Progress + "Good-Night, Babbette" + The Ladies of St. James's + Dora _versus_ Rose + Une Marquise + A Ballad to Queen Elizabeth + The Princess De Lamballe ('Four Frenchwomen') + + MARY MAPES DODGE 1840?- 4751 + The Race ('Hans Brinker') + + JOHN DONNE 1573-1631 4771 + The Undertaking + A Valediction Forbidding Mourning + Song + Love's Growth + Song + + FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOÉVSKY 1821-1881 4779 + BY ISABEL F. HAPGOOD + From 'Poor People': Letter from Varvara Debrosyeloff to + Makar Dyevushkin; Letter from Makar Dyevushkin + to Varvara Alexievna Dobrosyeloff + The Bible Reading ('Crime and Punishment') + + EDWARD DOWDEN 1843- 4806 + The Humor of Shakespeare ('Shakespeare; a Critical + Study of His Mind and Art') + Shakespeare's Portraiture of Women ('Transcripts + and Studies') + The Interpretation of Literature (same) + + A. CONAN DOYLE 1859- 4815 + The Red-Headed League ('The Adventures of + Sherlock Holmes') + Bowmen's Song ('The White Company') + + HOLGER DRACHMANN 1846- 4840 + The Skipper and His Ship ('Paul and Virginia + of a Northern Zone') + The Prince's Song ('Once Upon a Time') + + JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE 1795-1820 4851 + A Winter's Tale ('The Croakers') + The Culprit Fay + The American Flag + + JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER 1811-1882 4865 + The Vedas and Their Theology ('The Intellectual + Development of Europe') + Primitive Beliefs Dismissed by Scientific + Knowledge (same) + The Koran (same) + + MICHAEL DRAYTON 1563-1631 4877 + Sonnet + The Ballad of Agincourt + Queen Mab's Excursion ('Nymphidia, the Court of Faery') + + GUSTAVE DROZ 1832-1895 4885 + How the Baby Was Saved ('The Seamstress's Story') + A Family New-Year's ('Monsieur, Madame, and Bébé') + Their Last Excursion ('Making an Omelette') + + HENRY DRUMMOND 1851- 4897 + The Country and Its People ('Tropical Africa') + The East-African Lake Country (same) + White Ants (same) + + WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN 1585-1649 4913 + Sextain + Madrigal + Reason and Feeling + On Death ('Cypress Grove') + Degeneracy of the World + Briefness of Life + The Universe + + JOHN DRYDEN 1631-1700 4919 + BY THOMAS R. LOUNSBURY + From 'The Hind and the Panther' + To My Dear Friend Mr. Congreve + Ode to the Pious Memory of Mrs. Anne Killigrew + A Song + Lines Printed under Milton's Portrait + Alexander's Feast; or, The Power of Music + Achitophel ('Absalom and Achitophel') + + MAXIME DU CAMP 1822- 4951 + Street Scene during the Commune ('The Convulsions + of Paris') + + ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR 1802-1870 4957 + BY ANDREW LANG + The Cure for Dormice that Eat Peaches ('The Count of + Monte Cristo') + The Shoulder of Athos, the Belt of Porthos, and the + Handkerchief of Aramis ('The Three Musketeers') + Defense of the Bastion St.-Gervais (same) + Consultation of the Musketeers (same) + The Man in the Iron Mask ('The Viscount of Bragelonne') + A Trick is Played on Henry III. by Aid of Chicot + ('The Lady of Monsoreau') + + ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR 1824-1895 5001 + BY FRANCISQUE SARCEY + The Playwright Is Born--and Made (Preface to + 'The Prodigal Father') + An Armed Truce ('A Friend to the Sex') + Two Views of Money ('The Money Question') + M. De Remonin's Philosophy of Marriage + ('L'Étrangére') + Reforming a Father ('The Prodigal Father') + Mr. and Mrs. Clarkson ('L'Étrangére') + + GEORGE DU MAURIER 1834-1896 5041 + At the Heart of Bohemia ('Trilby') + Christmas in the Latin Quarter (same) + "Dreaming True" ('Peter Ibbetson') + Barty Josselin at School ('The Martian') + + WILLIAM DUNBAR 1465?-1530? 5064 + The Thistle and the Rose + From 'The Golden Targe' + No Treasure Avails Without Gladness + + JEAN VICTOR DURUY 1811-1894 5069 + The National Policy ('History of Rome') + Results of the Roman Dominion (same) + + + + + FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS + + + VOLUME XII + + PAGE + Javanese Manuscript (Colored Plate) Frontispiece + The Alexandrine Manuscript (Fac-simile) xii + Old Black-Letter Quarto (Fac-simile) 4726 + "Charles I. Going to Execution" (Photogravure) 4730 + "The Skater of the Zuyder Zee" (Photogravure) 4758 + African Arabic Manuscript (Fac-simile) 4870 + John Dryden (Portrait) 4920 + Alexandre Dumas (Portrait) 4958 + Alexandre Dumas, Fils (Portrait) 5002 + + + VIGNETTE PORTRAITS + + Denis Diderot Joseph Rodman Drake + Franz von Dingelstedt John William Draper + Isaac D'Israeli Michael Drayton + Austin Dobson Gustav Droz + Mary Mapes Dodge Henry Drummond + John Donne William Drummond + Feodor Dostoévsky Maxime Du Camp + A. Conan Doyle George du Maurier + Holger Drachmann Jean Victor Duruy + + + + + [Illustration: _CODEX ALEXANDRINUS._ + + Fifth Century. British Museum. + + The Alexandrine Manuscript of the Christian Scriptures is + almost complete in both Testaments, the Septuagint version of + the Old and the original Greek of the New. It consists of 773 + sheets, 12-3/4 by 10-3/4 inches, of very thin gray goatskin + vellum, written on both sides in two columns of faint but + clear characters. It was made in the early part of the fifth + century, under the supervision of Thecla, a noble Christian + lady of Alexandria, in the fifth century. It was brought from + Alexandria to Constantinople by Cyril Lucar, Patriarch of + Constantinople, who in 1624 gave it into the charge of the + English Ambassador for presentation to King James I.; but + owing to James' death before the presentation could be made, + it was presented instead to Charles I. It remained in the + possession of the English sovereigns until the Royal Library + was presented to the nation by George II. in 1753. With the + exception of the greater part of Matthew to Chapter xxv., two + leaves of John, and three of Second Corinthians, it contains + the whole Greek Bible, including the two Epistles of Clement + of Rome, which in early times ranked among the inspired + books. Its table of contents shows that it once included also + the "Psalms of Solomon," though, from their position and + title in the index, it is evident that they were regarded as + standing apart from the other books. The Museum has bound the + leaves of this precious manuscript in four volumes, and has + had photographic copies made of each page for the use of + students. The accompanying reproduction is from the last + chapter of the First Epistle of John, from "His Son," in + verse 9, to the end.] + + + + +DENIS DIDEROT + +(1713-1784) + +[Illustration: DENIS DIDEROT] + + +Among the French Encyclopædists of the eighteenth century Denis +Diderot holds the place of leader. There were intellects of broader +scope and of much surer balance in that famous group, but none of such +versatility, brilliancy, and outbursting force. To his associates he +was a marvel and an inspiration. + +He was born in October 1713, in Langres, Haute-Marne, France; and +died in Paris July 31st, 1784. After a classical education in Jesuit +schools, he utterly disgusted his father by turning to the Bohemian +life of a littérateur in Paris. Although very poor, he married at +the age of thirty. The whole story of his married life--the common +Parisian story in those days--reflects no credit on him; though +his _liaison_ with Mademoiselle Voland presents the aspects of a +friendship abiding through life. Poverty spurred him to exertion. +Four days of work in 1746 are said to have produced 'Pensées +Philosophiques' (Philosophic Thoughts). This book, with a little +essay following it, 'Interprétation de la Nature,' was his first open +attack on revealed religion. Its argument, though only negative, and +keeping within the bounds of theism, foretokened a class of utterances +which were frequent in Diderot's later years, and whose assurance of +his materialistic atheism would be complete had they not been too +exclamatory for settled conviction. He contents himself with +glorifying the passions, to the annulling of all ethical standards. +On this point at least his convictions were stable, for long afterward +he writes thus to Mademoiselle Voland:--"The man of mediocre passion +lives and dies like the brute.... If we were bound to choose between +Racine, a bad husband, a bad father, a false friend, and a sublime +poet, and Racine, good father, good husband, good friend, and dull +worthy man, I hold to the first. Of Racine the bad man, what remains? +Nothing. Of Racine the man of genius? The work is eternal." + +About 1747 he produced an allegory, 'Promenade du Sceptique.' This +French 'Pilgrim's Progress' scoffs at the Church of Rome for denying +pleasure, then decries the pleasures of the world, and ends by +asserting the hopeless uncertainty of the philosophy which both scoffs +at the Church and decries worldly pleasure. At this period he was +evidently inclined to an irregular attack on the only forms of +Christianity familiar to him, asceticism and pietism. + +In 1749 Diderot first showed himself a thinker of original power, in +his Letter on the Blind. This work, 'Lettre sur les Avengles à l'Usage +de Ceux qui Voient' (Letter on the Blind for the Use of Those who See) +opened the eyes of the public to Diderot's peculiar genius, and the +eyes of the authorities to the menace in his principles. The result +was his imprisonment, and from that the spread of his views. His +offense was, that through his ingenious supposition of the mind +deprived of its use of one or more of the bodily senses, he had shown +the relativity of all man's conceptions, and had thence deduced +the relativity, the lack of absoluteness, of all man's ethical +standards--thus invalidating the foundations of civil and social +order. The broad assertion that Diderot and his philosophic group +caused the French Revolution has only this basis, that these men +were among the omens of its advance, feeling its stir afar but not +recognizing the coming earthquake. Yet it may be conceded that Diderot +anticipated things great and strange; for his mind, although neither +precise nor capable of sustained and systematic thought, was amazingly +original in conception and powerful in grasp. The mist, blank to his +brethren, seems to have wreathed itself into wonderful shapes to his +eye; he was the seer whose wild enthusiasm caught the oracles from +an inner shrine. A predictive power appears in his Letter on the +Blind, where he imagines the blind taught to read by touch; and +nineteenth-century hypotheses gleam dimly in his random guess at +variability in organisms, and at survival of those best adapted to +their environment. + +Diderot's monumental work, 'L'Encyclopédie,' dates from the middle of +the century. It was his own vast enlargement of Ephraim Chambers's +Cyclopædia of 1727, of which a bookseller had demanded a revision +in French. D'Alembert was secured as his colleague, and in 1751 the +first volume appeared. The list of contributors includes most of +the great contemporary names in French literature. From these, +Diderot and D'Alembert gathered the inner group known as the French +Encyclopædists, to whose writings has been ascribed a general tendency +to destroy religion and to reconstitute society. The authorities +interfered repeatedly, with threats and prohibitions of the +publication; but the science of government included the science of +connivance for an adequate consideration, and the great work went +forward. Its danger lurked in its principles; for Diderot dealt but +little in the cheap flattery which the modern demagogue addresses to +the populace. D'Alembert, wearied by ten years of persecution, retired +in 1759, leaving the indefatigable Diderot to struggle alone through +seven years, composing and revising hundreds of articles, correcting +proofs, supervising the unrivaled illustrations of the mechanic arts, +while quieting the opposition of the authorities. + +The Encyclopædia under Diderot followed no one philosophic path. +Indeed, there are no signs that he ever gave any consideration to +either the intellectual or the ethical force of consistency. His +writing indicates his utter carelessness both as to the direction and +as to the pace of his thought. He had an abiding conviction that +Christianity was partly delusion and largely priestcraft, and was +maintained chiefly for upholding iniquitous privilege. His antagonism +was developed primarily from his emotions and sympathies rather than +from his intellect; hence it sometimes swerved, drawing perilously +near to formal orthodoxy. Moreover, this vivacious philosopher +sometimes rambled into practical advice, and easily effervesced +into fervid moralizings of the sentimental and almost tearful sort. +His immense natural capacity for sentiment appears in his own account +of his meeting with Grimm after a few months' absence. His +sentimentalism, however, had its remarkable counterpoise in a most +practical tendency of mind. In the Encyclopædia the interests of +agriculture and of all branches of manufacture were treated with great +fullness; and the reform of feudal abuses lingering in the laws of +France was vigorously urged in a style more practical than cyclopædic. + +Diderot gave much attention to the drama, and his 'Paradoxe sur le +Comédien' (Paradox on the Actor) is a valuable discussion. He is the +father of the modern domestic drama. His influence upon the dramatic +literature of Germany was direct and immediate; it appeared in the +plays of Lessing and Schiller, and much of Lessing's criticism was +inspired by Diderot. His 'Père de Famille' (Family-Father) and 'Le +Fils Naturel' (The Natural Son) marked the beginning of a new era in +the history of the stage, in the midst of which we are now living. +Breaking with the old traditions, Diderot abandoned the lofty themes +of classic tragedy and portrayed the life of the _bourgeoisie_. +The influence of England, frequently manifest in the work of the +Encyclopædists, is evident also here. Richardson was then the chief +force in fiction, and the sentimental element so characteristic in +him reappears in the dramas of Diderot. + +Goethe was strongly attracted by the genius of Diderot, and thought it +worth his while not only to translate but to supply with a long and +luminous commentary the latter's 'Essay on Painting.' It was by a +singular trick of fortune, too, that one of Diderot's most powerful +works should first have appeared in German garb, and not in the +original French until after the author's death. A manuscript copy of +the book chanced to fall into the hands of Goethe, who so greatly +admired it that he at once translated, annotated, and published it. +This was the famous dialogue 'Le Neveu de Rameau' (Rameau's Nephew), +a work which only Diderot's peculiar genius could have produced. +Depicting the typical parasite, shameless, quick-witted for every +species of villainy, at home in every possible meanness, the dialogue +is a probably unequaled compound of satire, high æsthetics, gleaming +humor, sentimental moralizing, fine musical criticism, and scientific +character analysis, with passages of brutal indecency. + +Among literary critics of painting, Diderot has his place in the +highest rank. His nine 'Salons'--criticisms which in his good-nature +he wrote for the use of his friend Grimm, on the annual exhibitions +in the Paris Salon from 1759 onward--have never been surpassed among +non-technical criticisms for brilliancy, freshness, and philosophic +suggestiveness. They reveal the man's elemental strength; which was +not in his knowledge, for he was without technical training in art +and had seen scarcely any of the world's masterpieces, but in his +sensuously sympathetic nature, which gave him quickness of insight +and delicacy in interpretation. + +He had the faculty of making and keeping friends, being unaffected, +genial, amiable, enthusiastically generous and helpful to his friends, +and without vindictiveness to his foes. He needed these qualities to +counteract his almost utter lack of conscientiousness, his gush of +sentiment, his unregulated morals, his undisciplined genius, his +unbalanced thought. His style of writing, often vivid and strong, +is as often awkward and dull, and is frequently lacking in finish. +As a philosophic author and thinker his voluminous work is of little +enduring worth, for though plentiful in original power it totally +lacks organic unity; his thought rambles carelessly, his method is +confused. It has been said of him that he was a master who produced no +masterpiece. But as a talker, a converser, all witnesses testify that +he was wondrously inspiring and suggestive, speaking sometimes as from +mysterious heights of vision or out of unsearchable deeps of thought. + + + +FROM 'RAMEAU'S NEPHEW' + + +Be the weather fair or foul, it is my custom in any case at five +o'clock in the afternoon to stroll in the Palais Royal. I am always to +be seen alone and meditative, on the bench D'Argenson. I hold converse +with myself on politics or love, on taste or philosophy, and yield up +my soul entirely to its own frivolity. It may follow the first idea +that presents itself, be the idea wise or foolish. In the Allée de Foi +one sees our young rakes following upon the heels of some courtesan +who passes on with shameless mien, laughing face, animated glance, and +a pug nose; but they soon leave her to follow another, teasing them +all, joining none of them. My thoughts are my courtesans. + +When it is really too cold or rainy, I take refuge in the Café de la +Régence and amuse myself by watching the chess-players. Paris is the +place of the world and the Café de la Régence the place of Paris where +the best chess is played. There one witnesses the most carefully +calculated moves; there one hears the most vulgar conversation; for +since it is possible to be at once a man of intellect and a great +chess-player, like Légal, so also one may be at once a great +chess-player and a very silly person, like Foubert or Mayot. + +One afternoon I was there, observing much, speaking rarely, and +hearing as little as possible, when one of the most singular +personages came up to me that ever was produced by this land of ours, +where surely God has never caused a dearth of singular characters. +He is a combination of high-mindedness and baseness, of sound +understanding and folly; in his head the conceptions of honor and +dishonor must be strangely tangled, for the good qualities with which +nature has endowed him he displays without boastfulness, and the bad +qualities without shame. For the rest, he is firmly built, has an +extraordinary power of imagination, and possesses an uncommonly strong +pair of lungs. Should you ever meet him and succeed in escaping from +the charm of his originality, it must be by stopping both ears with +your fingers or by precipitate flight. Heavens, what terrible lungs! + +And nothing is less like him than he himself. Sometimes he is thin and +wasted, like a man in the last stages of consumption; you could count +his teeth through his cheeks; you would think he had not tasted food +for several days, or had come from La Trappe. + +A month later he is fattened and filled out as if he had never left +the banquets of the rich or had been fed among the Bernardines. +To-day, with soiled linen, torn trousers, clad in rags, and almost +barefoot, he passes with bowed head, avoids those whom he meets, till +one is tempted to call him and bestow upon him an alms. To-morrow, +powdered, well groomed, well dressed, and well shod, he carries his +head high, lets himself be seen, and you would take him almost for a +respectable man. + +So he lives from day to day, sad or merry, according to the +circumstances. His first care, when he rises in the morning, is to +take thought where he is to dine. After dinner he bethinks himself of +some opportunity to procure supper, and with the night come new cares. +Sometimes he goes on foot to his little attic, which is his home if +the landlady, impatient at long arrears of rent, has not taken the key +away from him. Sometimes he goes to one of the taverns in the suburbs, +and there, between a bit of bread and a mug of beer, awaits the day. +If he lacks the six sous necessary to procure him quarters for the +night, which is occasionally the case, he applies to some cabman among +his friends or to the coachman of some great lord, and a place on the +straw beside the horses is vouchsafed him. In the morning he carries a +part of his mattress in his hair. If the season is mild, he spends the +whole night strolling back and forth on the Cours or in the Champs +Élysées. With the day he appears again in the city, dressed yesterday +for to-day and to-day often for the rest of the week. + +For such originals I cannot feel much esteem, but there are others who +make close acquaintances and even friends of them. Once in the year +perhaps they are able to put their spell upon me, when I meet them, +because their character is in such strong contrast to that of +every-day humanity, and they break the oppressive monotony which our +education, our social conventions, our traditional proprieties have +produced. When such a man enters a company, he acts like a cake of +yeast that raises the whole, and restores to each a part of his +natural individuality. He shakes them up, brings things into motion, +elicits praise or censure, drives truth into the open, makes upright +men recognizable, unmasks the rogues, and there the wise man sits and +listens and is enabled to distinguish one class from another. + +This particular specimen I had long known; he frequented a house into +which his talents had secured him the entrée. These people had an only +daughter. He swore to the parents that he would marry their daughter. +They only shrugged their shoulders, laughed in his face, and assured +him that he was a fool. But I saw the day come when the thing was +accomplished. He asked me for some money, which I gave him. He had, +I know not how, squirmed his way into a few houses, where a _couvert_ +stood always ready for him, but it had been stipulated that he should +never speak without the consent of his hosts. So there he sat and +ate, filled the while with malice; it was fun to see him under this +restraint. The moment he ventured to break the treaty and open his +mouth, at the very first word the guests all shouted "O Rameau!" Then +his eyes flashed wrathfully, and he fell upon his food again with +renewed energy. + +You were curious to know the man's name; there it is. He is the nephew +of the famous composer who has saved us from the church music of Lulli +which we have been chanting for a hundred years, ... and who, having +buried the Florentine, will himself be buried by Italian virtuosi; he +dimly feels this, and so has become morose and irritable, for no one +can be in a worse humor--not even a beautiful woman who in the morning +finds a pimple on her nose--than an author who sees himself threatened +with the fate of outliving his reputation, as Marivaux and Crébillon +_fils_ prove. + +Rameau's nephew came up to me. "Ah, my philosopher, do I meet you once +again? What are you doing here among the good-for-nothings? Are you +wasting your time pushing bits of wood about?" + +_I_--No; but when I have nothing better to do, I take a passing +pleasure in watching those who push them about with skill. + +_He_--A rare pleasure, surely. Excepting Légal and Philidor, there is +no one here that understands it.... + +_I_--You are hard to please. I see that only the best finds favor with +you. + +_He_--Yes, in chess, checkers, poetry, oratory, music, and such other +trumpery. Of what possible use is mediocrity in these things? + +_I_--I am almost ready to agree with you.... + +_He_--You have always shown some interest in me, because I'm a poor +devil whom you really despise, but who after all amuses you. + +_I_--That is true. + +_He_--Then let me tell you. (Before beginning, he drew a deep sigh, +covered his forehead with both hands, then with calm countenance +continued:--) You know I am ignorant, foolish, silly, shameless, +rascally, gluttonous. + +_I_--What a panegyric! + +_He_--It is entirely true. Not a word to be abated; no contradiction, +I pray you. No one knows me better than I know myself, and I don't +tell all. + +_I_--Rather than anger you, I will assent. + +_He_--Now, just think, I lived with people who valued me precisely +because all these qualities were mine in a high degree. + +_I_--That is most remarkable. I have hitherto believed that people +concealed these qualities even from themselves, or excused them, but +always despised them in others. + +_He_--Conceal them? Is that possible? You may be sure that when +Palissot is alone and contemplates himself, he tells quite a different +story. You may be sure that he and his companion make open confession +to each other that they are a pair of arrant rogues. Despise these +qualities in others? My people were much more reasonable, and I fared +excellently well among them. I was cock of the walk. When absent, I +was instantly missed. I was pampered. I was their little Rameau, their +good Rameau, the shameless, ignorant, lazy Rameau, the fool, the +clown, the gourmand. Each of these epithets was to me a smile, a +caress, a slap on the back, a box on the ears, a kick, a dainty morsel +thrown upon my plate at dinner, a liberty permitted me after dinner as +if it were of no account; for I am of no account. People make of me +and do before me and with me whatever they please, and I never give it +a thought.... + +_I_--You have been giving lessons, I understand, in accompaniment and +composition? + +_He_--Yes. + +_I_--And you knew absolutely nothing about it? + +_He_--No, by Heaven; and for that very reason I was a much better +teacher than those who imagine they know something about it. At all +events, I didn't spoil the taste nor ruin the hands of my young +pupils. If when they left me they went to a competent master, they had +nothing to unlearn, for they had learned nothing, and that was just so +much time and money saved. + +_I_--But how did you do it? + +_He_--The way they all do it. I came, threw myself into a chair:--"How +bad the weather is! How tired the pavement makes one!" Then some +scraps of town gossip:... "At the last Amateur Concert there was an +Italian woman who sang like an angel.... Poor Dumênil doesn't know +what to say or do," etc., etc. ... "Come, mademoiselle, where is your +music-book?" And as mademoiselle displays no great haste, searches +every nook and corner for the book, which she has mislaid, and finally +calls the maid to help her, I continue:--"Little Clairon is an enigma. +There is talk of a perfectly absurd marriage of--what is her +name?"--"Nonsense, Rameau, it isn't possible."--"They say the affair +is all settled." ... "There is a rumor that Voltaire is dead,"--"All +the better."--"Why all the better?"--"Then he is sure to treat us to +some droll skit. That's a way he has, a fortnight before his death." +What more should I say? I told a few scandals about the families in +the houses where I am received, for we are all great scandal-mongers. +In short, I played the fool; they listened and laughed, and exclaimed, +"He is really too droll, isn't he?" Meanwhile the music-book had been +found under a chair, where a little dog or a little cat had worried +it, chewed it, and torn it. Then the pretty child sat down at the +piano and began to make a frightful noise upon it. I went up to her, +secretly making a sign of approbation to her mother. "Well, now, that +isn't so bad," said the mother; "one needs only to make up one's mind +to a thing; but the trouble is, one will not make up one's mind; one +would rather kill time by chattering, trifling, running about, and God +knows what. Scarcely do you turn your back but the book is closed, and +not until you are at her side again is it opened. Besides, I have +never heard you reprimand her." In the mean time, since something had +to be done, I took her hands and placed them differently. I pretended +to lose my patience; I shouted,--"Sol, sol, sol, mademoiselle, it's a +_sol_." The mother: "Mademoiselle, have you no ears? I'm not at the +piano, I'm not looking at your notes, but my own feeling tells me that +it ought to be a _sol_. You give the gentleman infinite trouble. You +remember nothing, and make no progress." To break the force of this +reproof a little, I tossed my head and said: "Pardon me, madame, +pardon me. It would be better if mademoiselle would only practice a +little, but after all it is not so bad."--"In your place I would keep +her a whole year at one piece."--"Rest assured, I shall not let her +off until she has mastered every difficulty; and that will not take so +long, perhaps, as mademoiselle thinks."--"Monsieur Rameau, you flatter +her; you are too good." And that is the only thing they would remember +of the whole lesson, and would upon occasion repeat to me. So the +lesson came to an end. My pupil handed me the fee, with a graceful +gesture and a courtesy which her dancing-master had taught her. I put +the money into my pocket, and the mother said, "That's very nice, +mademoiselle. If Favillier were here, he would praise you." For +appearance's sake I chattered for a minute or two more; then I +vanished; and that is what they called in those days a lesson in +accompaniment. + +_I_--And is the case different now? + +_He_--Heavens! I should think so. I come in, I am serious, throw my +muff aside, open the piano, try the keys, show signs of great +impatience, and if I am kept a moment waiting I shout as if my purse +had been stolen. In an hour I must be there or there; in two hours +with the Duchess So-and-so; at noon I must go to the fair Marquise; +and then there is to be a concert at Baron de Bagge's, Rue Neuve des +Petits Champs. + +_I_--And meanwhile no one expects you at all. + +_He_--Certainly not.... And precisely because I can further my fortune +through vices which come natural to me, which I acquired without labor +and practice without effort, which are in harmony with the customs of +my countrymen, which are quite to the taste of my patrons, and better +adapted to their special needs than inconvenient virtues would be, +which from morning to night would be standing accusations against +them, it would be strange indeed if I should torture myself like one +of the damned to twist and turn and make of myself something which I +am not, and hide myself beneath a character foreign to me, and assume +the most estimable qualities, whose worth I will not dispute, but +which I could acquire and live up to only by great exertions, and +which after all would lead to nothing,--perhaps to worse than nothing. +Moreover, ought a beggar like me, who lives upon the wealthy, +constantly to hold up to his patrons a mirror of good conduct? People +praise virtue but hate it; they fly from it, let it freeze; and in +this world a man has to keep his feet warm. Besides, I should always +be in the sourest humor: for why is it that the pious and the +devotional are so hard, so repellent, so unsociable? It is because +they have imposed upon themselves a task contrary to their nature. +They suffer, and when a man suffers he makes others suffer. Now, that +is no affair of mine or of my patrons'. I must be in good spirits, +easy, affable, full of sallies, drollery, and folly. Virtue demands +reverence, and reverence is inconvenient; virtue challenges +admiration, and admiration is not entertaining. I have to do with +people whose time hangs heavy on their hands; they want to laugh. Now +consider the folly: the ludicrous makes people laugh, and I therefore +must be a fool; I must be amusing, and if nature had not made me so, +then by hook or by crook I should have made myself seem so. +Fortunately I have no need to play the hypocrite. There are hypocrites +enough of all colors without me, and not counting those who deceive +themselves.... Should it ever occur to friend Rameau to play Cato, to +despise fortune, women, good living, idleness, what would he be? A +hypocrite. Let Rameau remain what he is, a happy robber among wealthy +robbers, and a man without either real or boasted virtue. In short, +your idea of happiness, the happiness of a few enthusiastic dreamers +like you, has no charm for me.... + +_I_--He earns his bread dearly, who in order to live must assail +virtue and knowledge. + +_He_--I have already told you that we are of no consequence. We +slander all men and grieve none. + + [The dialogue reverts to music.] + +_I_--Every imitation has its original in nature. What is the +musician's model when he breaks into song? + +_He_--Why do you not grasp the subject higher up? What is song? + +_I_--That, I confess, is a question beyond my powers. That's the way +with us all. The memory is stored with words only, which we think we +understand because we often use them and even apply them correctly, +but in the mind we have only indefinite conceptions. When I use the +word "song," I have no more definite idea of it than you and the +majority of your kind have when you say reputation, disgrace, honor, +vice, virtue, shame, propriety, mortification, ridicule. + +_He_--Song is an imitation in tones, produced either by the voice or +by instruments, of a scale invented by art, or if you will, +established by nature; an imitation of physical sounds or passionate +utterances; and you see, with proper alterations this definition could +be made to fit painting, oratory, sculpture, and poetry. Now to come +to your question, What is the model of the musician or of song? It is +the declamation, when the model is alive or sensate; it is the tone, +when the model is insensate. The declamation must be regarded as a +line, and the music as another line which twines about it. The +stronger and the more genuine is this declamation, this model of song, +the more numerous the points at which the accompanying music +intersects it, the more beautiful will it be. And this our younger +composers have clearly perceived. When one hears "Je suis un pauvre +diable," one feels that it is a miser's complaint. If he didn't sing, +he would address the earth in the very same tones when he intrusts to +its keeping his gold: "O terre, reçois mon trésor." ... In such works +with the greatest variety of characters, there is a convincing truth +of declamation that is unsurpassed. I tell you, go, go, and hear the +aria where the young man who feels that he is dying, cries out, "Mon +coeur s'en va." Listen to the air, listen to the accompaniment, and +then tell me what difference there is between the true tones of a +dying man and the handling of this music. You will see that the line +of the melody exactly coincides with the line of declamation. I say +nothing of the time, which is one of the conditions of song; I confine +myself to the expression, and there is nothing truer than the +statement which I have somewhere read, "Musices seminarium +accentus,"--the accent is the seed-plot of the melody. And for that +reason, consider how difficult and important a matter it is to be able +to write a good recitative. There is no beautiful aria out of which a +beautiful recitative could not be made; no beautiful recitative out of +which a clever man could not produce a beautiful aria. I will not +assert that one who recites well will also be able to sing well, but I +should be much surprised if a good singer could not recite well. And +you may believe all that I tell you now, for it is true. + +(And then he walked up and down and began to hum a few arias from the +"Île des Fons," etc., exclaiming from time to time, with upturned eyes +and hands upraised:--) "Isn't that beautiful, great heavens! isn't +that beautiful? Is it possible to have a pair of ears on one's head +and question its beauty?" Then as his enthusiasm rose he sang quite +softly, then more loudly as he became more impassioned, then with +gestures, grimaces, contortions of body. "Well," said I, "he is losing +his mind, and I may expect a new scene." And in fact, all at once he +burst out singing.... He passed from one aria to another, fully thirty +of them,--Italian, French, tragic, comic, of every sort. Now with a +deep bass he descended into hell; then, contracting his throat, he +split the upper air with a falsetto, and in gait, mien, and action he +imitated the different singers, by turns raving, commanding, +mollified, scoffing. There was a little girl that wept, and he hit off +all her pretty little ways. Then he was a priest, a king, a tyrant; he +threatened, commanded, stormed; then he was a slave and submissive. He +despaired, he grew tender, he lamented, he laughed, always in the +tone, the time, the sense of the words, of the character, of the +situation. + +All the chess-players had left their boards and were gathered around +him; the windows of the café were crowded with passers-by, attracted +by the noise. There was laughter enough to bring down the ceiling. He +noticed nothing, but went on in such a rapt state of mind, in an +enthusiasm so close to madness, that I was uncertain whether he would +recover, or if he would be thrown into a cab and taken straight to the +mad-house; the while he sang the Lamentations of Jomelli. + +With precision, fidelity, and incredible warmth, he rendered one of +the finest passages, the superb obligato recitative in which the +prophet paints the destruction of Jerusalem; he wept himself, and the +eyes of the listeners were moist. More could not be desired in +delicacy of vocalization, nor in the expression of overwhelming grief. +He dwelt especially on those parts in which the great composer has +shown his greatness most clearly. When he was not singing, he took the +part of the instruments; these he quickly dropped again, to return to +the vocal part, weaving one into the other so perfectly that the +connection, the unity of the whole, was preserved. He took possession +of our souls and held them in the strangest suspense I have ever +experienced. Did I admire him? Yes, I admired him. Was I moved and +melted? I was moved and melted, and yet something of the ludicrous +mingled itself with these feelings and modified their nature. + +But you would have burst out laughing at the way he imitated the +different instruments. With a rough muffled tone and puffed-out +cheeks he represented horns and bassoon; for the oboe he assumed a +rasping nasal tone; with incredible rapidity he made his voice run +over the string instruments, whose tones he endeavored to reproduce +with the greatest accuracy; the flute passages he whistled; he rumbled +out the sounds of the German flute; he shouted and sang with the +gestures of a madman, and so alone and unaided he impersonated the +entire ballet corps, the singers, the whole orchestra,--in short, a +complete performance,--dividing himself into twenty different +characters, running, stopping, with the mien of one entranced, with +glittering eyes and foaming mouth.... He was quite beside himself. +Exhausted by his exertions, like a man awakening from a deep sleep or +emerging from a long period of abstraction, he remained motionless, +stupefied, astonished. He looked about him in bewilderment, like one +trying to recognize the place in which he finds himself. He awaited +the return of his strength, of his consciousness; he dried his face +mechanically. Like one who upon awaking finds his bed surrounded by +groups of people, in complete oblivion and profound unconsciousness of +what he had been doing, he cried, "Well, gentlemen, what's the matter? +What are you laughing at? What are you wondering about? What's the +matter?" + +_I_--My dear Rameau, let us talk again of music. Tell me how it comes +that with the facility you display for appreciating the finest +passages of the great masters, for retaining them in your memory, and +for rendering them to the delight of others with all the enthusiasm +with which the music inspires you,--how comes it that you have +produced nothing of value yourself? + +(Instead of answering me, he tossed his head, and raising his finger +towards heaven, cried:--) + +The stars, the stars! When nature made Leo, Vinci, Pergolese, Duni, +she wore a smile; her face was solemn and commanding when she created +my dear uncle Rameau, who for ten years has been called the great +Rameau, and who will soon be named no more. But when she scraped his +nephew together, she made a face and a face and a face.--(And as he +spoke he made grimaces, one of contempt, one of irony, one of scorn. +He went through the motions of kneading dough, and smiled at the +ludicrous forms he gave it. Then he threw the strange pagoda from +him.) So she made me and threw me down among other pagodas, some with +portly well-filled paunches, short necks, protruding goggle eyes, and +an apoplectic appearance; others with lank and crooked necks and +emaciated forms, with animated eyes and hawks' noses. These all felt +like laughing themselves to death when they saw me, and when I saw +them I set my arms akimbo and felt like laughing myself to death, for +fools and clowns take pleasure in one another; seek one another out, +attract one another. Had I not found upon my arrival in this world the +proverb ready-made, that the money of fools is the inheritance of the +clever, the world would have owed it to me. I felt that nature had put +my inheritance into the purse of the pagodas, and I tried in a +thousand ways to recover it. + +_I_--I know these ways. You have told me of them. I have admired them. +But with so many capabilities, why do you not try to accomplish +something great? + +_He_--That is exactly what a man of the world said to the Abbé Le +Blanc. The abbé replied:--"The Marquise de Pompadour takes me in hand +and brings me to the door of the Academy; then she withdraws her hand; +I fall and break both legs."--"You ought to pull yourself together," +rejoined the man of the world, "and break the door in with your +head."--"I have just tried that," answered the abbé, "and do you know +what I got for it? A bump on the head." ... (Then he drank a swallow +from what remained in the bottle and turned to his neighbor.) Sir, I +beg you for a pinch of snuff. That's a fine snuff-box you have there. +You are a musician? No! All the better for you. They are a lot of poor +deplorable wretches. Fate made me one of them, me! Meanwhile at +Montmartre there is a mill, and in the mill there is perhaps a miller +or a miller's lad, who will never hear anything but the roaring of the +mill, and who might have composed the most beautiful of songs. Rameau, +get you to the mill, to the mill; it's there you belong . . . But it +is half-past five. I hear the vesper bell which summons me too. +Farewell. It's true, is it not, philosopher, I am always the same +Rameau? + +_I_--Yes, indeed. Unfortunately. + +_He_--Let me enjoy my misfortune forty years longer. He laughs best +who laughs last. + + Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature.' + + + + +FRANZ VON DINGELSTEDT + +(1814-1881) + +[Illustration: DINGELSTEDT] + + +Franz von Dingelstedt was born at Halsdorf, Hessen, Germany, June +30th, 1814. He attained eminence as a poet and dramatist, but his best +powers were devoted to his principal calling as theatre director. + +His boyhood's education was received at Rinteln. At the University +of Marburg he applied himself to theology and philology, but more +especially to modern languages and literature. After leaving the +university he became instructor at Ricklingen, near Hanover. He was +characterized, even as a young man, by his political freedom and +independence of thought; and at Cassel, where in 1836 he was teacher +in the Lyceum, he was on this account looked upon so much askance that +it was found expedient to transfer him to the gymnasium at Fulda +(1838). He resigned this position, however, in order to devote himself +to writing. A collection of his poems appeared in 1838-45, and of +these, 'Lieder eines Kosmopolitischen Nachtwächters' (Songs of a +Cosmopolitan Night-Watchman: 1841) may be said to have produced a +genuine agitation. These were not only important as literature, but +as political promulgations, boldly embodying the radical sentiments +of freethinking Germany. + +In 1841 he went to Augsburg, connected himself with the Allgemeine +Zeitung, and traveled as newspaper correspondent in France, Holland, +Belgium, and England. 'Das Wanderbuch' (The Wander-Book), and 'Jusqu' +à la Mer--Erinnerungen aus Holland' (As Far as the Sea--Remembrances +of Holland: 1847), were the fruits of these journeys. He had in +contemplation a voyage to the Orient, and preparatory to this he +settled for a short time in Vienna; but the journey was not +undertaken, for just at this time he was appointed librarian of the +Royal Library of Stuttgart, and reader to the king, with the title of +Court Councilor. Here in 1844 he married the celebrated singer Jenny +Lutzer. He returned to Vienna, where in 1850 his drama 'Das Haus der +Barneveldt' (The House of the Barneveldts) was produced with such +brilliant success that he was thereupon appointed stage manager of the +National Theatre at Munich. To this for six years he devoted his best +efforts, presenting in the most admirable manner the finest of the +German classics. The merit of his work was recognized by the king, who +ennobled him in 1857. He was pre-eminently a theatrical manager, and +served successively at Weimar (1857) and at Vienna, where he was +appointed director of the Court Opera House in 1867, and of the Burg +Theatre in 1870. He brought the classic plays of other lands upon the +stage, and his revivals of Shakespeare's historical plays and the +'Winter's Tale,' and of Molière's 'L'Avare' (The Miser), were +brilliant events in the theatrical annals of Vienna. He was made +Imperial Councilor by the Emperor, and raised in 1876 to the rank of +baron. In 1875 he took the position of general director of both court +theatres of Vienna. He died at Vienna, May 15th, 1881. + +The novels 'Licht und Schatten der Liebe' (The Light and Shadow of +Love: 1838); 'Heptameron,' 1841; and 'Novellenbuch,' 1855, were not +wholly successful; but in contrast to these, 'Unter der Erde' (Under +the Earth: 1840); 'Sieben Friedliche Erzählungen' (Seven Peaceful +Tales: 1844), and 'Die Amazone' (The Amazon: 1868), are admirable. + +Regarded purely as literature, Dingelstedt's best productions are his +early poems, although his commentaries upon Shakespeare and Goethe are +wholly praiseworthy. He was successful chiefly as a political poet, +but his muse sings also the joys of domestic life. 'Hauslieder' +(Household Songs: 1844), and his poems upon Chamisso and Uhland, +are among the most beautiful personal poems in German literature. + + + +A MAN OF BUSINESS + +From 'The Amazon': copyrighted by G.P. Putnam's Sons + + +Herr Krafft was about to reply, but was prevented by the hasty +appearance of Herr Heyboldt, the first procurist, who entered the +apartment; not an antiquated comedy figure in shoe-buckles, coarse +woolen socks, velvet pantaloons, and a long-tailed coat, his vest full +of tobacco, and a goose-quill back of his comically flexible ear; no, +but a fine-looking man, dressed in the latest style and in black, with +a medal in his button-hole, and having an earnest, expressive +countenance. He was house-holder, member of the City Council, and +militia captain; the gold medal and colored ribbon on his left breast +told of his having saved, at the risk of his own life, a Leander who +had been carried away by the current in the swimming-baths. + +His announcement, urgent as it was, was made without haste, deliberate +and cool, somewhat as the mate informs the captain that an ugly wind +has sprung up. "Herr Principal," he said, "the crowd has broken in the +barriers and one wing of the gateway; they are attacking the +counting-house." "Who breaks, pays," said Krafft, with a joke; "we +will charge the sport to their account."--"The police are not strong +enough; they have sent to the Royal Watch for military."--"That is +right, Heyboldt. No accident, no arms or legs broken?"--"Not that I +know of."--"Pity for Meyer Hirsch; he would have thundered +magnificently in the official Morning News against the excesses of the +rage for speculation. Nor any one wounded by the police?"--"Not any, +so far."--"Pity for Hirsch Meyer. The oppositional Evening Journal has +missed a capital opportunity of weeping over the barbarity of the +soldateska. At all events, the two papers must continue to write--one +for, the other against us. Keep Hirsch Meyer and Meyer Hirsch +going."--"All right, Herr Principal."--"Send each of them a polite +line, to the effect that we have taken the liberty of keeping a few +shares for him, to sell them at the most favorable moment, and pay him +over the difference."--"It shall be attended to, Herr Principal."--"So +our Southwestern Railway goes well, Heyboldt?"--"By steam, Herr +Principal." The sober man smiled at his daring joke, and Herr Krafft +smiled affably with him. "The amount that we have left to furnish will +be exhausted before one has time to turn around. The people throw +money, bank-notes, government bonds, at our cashiers, who cannot fill +up the receipts fast enough. On the Bourse they fought for the +blanks."--"For the next four weeks we will run the stock up, Heyboldt; +after that it can fall, but slowly, with decorum."--"I understand, +Herr Principal." + +A cashier came rushing in without knocking. "Herr Principal," he +stammered in his panic, "we have not another blank, and the people are +pouring in upon us more and more violently. Wild shouts call for you." +"To your place, sir," thundered Krafft at him. "I shall come when I +think it time. In no case," he added more quietly, "before the +military arrive. We need an interference, for the sake of the market." +The messenger disappeared; but pale, bewildered countenances were to +be seen in the doorways of the comptoir; the house called for its +master: the trembling daughter sent again and again for her father. + +"Let us bring the play to a close," said Herr Krafft, after brief +deliberation; he stepped into the middle office, flung open a window, +and raising his harsh voice to its loudest tones, cried to the throng +below, "You are looking for me, folks. Here I am. What do you want of +me?" "Shares, subscriptions," was the noisy answer.--"You claim +without any right or any manners. This is my house, a peaceable +citizen's house. You are breaking in as though it were a dungeon, an +arsenal, a tax-office,--as though we were in the midst of a +revolution. Are you not ashamed of yourselves?" A confused murmur rang +through the astonished ranks. "If you wish to do business with me," +continued the merchant, "you must first learn manners and discipline. +Have I invited your visit? Do I need your money, or do you need my +shares? Send up some deputies to convey your requests. I shall have +nothing to do with a turbulent mob." So saying, he closed the window +with such violence that the panes cracked, and the fragments fell down +on the heads of the assailants. + +"The Principal knows how to talk to the people," said Heyboldt with +pride to Roland, the mute witness of this strange scene. "He speaks +their own language. He replies to a broken door with a broken window." + +Meantime a company of soldiers had arrived on double-quick, with a +flourish of drums. The officer's word of command rang through the +crowd, now grown suddenly quiet: "Fix bayonets! form line! march!" +Yard and passages were cleared, the doors guarded; in the street the +low muttering tide, forced back, made a sort of dam. Three deputies, +abashed and confused, appeared at Krafft's door and craved audience. +The merchant received them like a prince surrounded by his court, in +the midst of his clerks, in the large counting-room. The spokesman +commenced: "We ask your pardon, Herr Krafft, for what has +happened."--"For shame, that you should drag in soldiers as witnesses +and peacemakers in a quiet little business affair among order-loving +citizens."--"It was reported that we had been fooled with these +subscriptions, and that the entire sum had been already disposed of on +the Bourse."--"And even if that were so, am I to be blamed for it? The +Southwestern Railway must raise thirty millions. Double, treble that +amount is offered it. Can I prevent the necessity of reducing the +subscriptions?"--"No; but they say that we poor folks shall not get a +cent's worth; the big men of the Bourse have gobbled up the best bits +right before our noses."--"They say so? Who says so? Court Cooper +Täubert, I ask you who says so?"--"Gracious Herr Court Banker--" +"Don't Court or Gracious me. My name is Krafft, Herr Hans Heinrich +Krafft. I think we know each other, Master Täubert. It is not the +first time that we have done business together. You have a very snug +little share in my workingmen's bank. Grain-broker Wüst, you have +bought one of the houses in my street. Do I ever dun you for the +installments of purchase money?" "No indeed, Herr Krafft; you are a +good man, a public-spirited man, no money-maker, no leech, no Jew!" +cried the triumvirate of deputies in chorus.--"I am nothing more than +you are: a man of business, who works for his living, the son of a +peasant, a plain simple citizen. I began in a smaller way than any of +you; but I shall never forget that I am flesh of your flesh, blood of +your blood. Facts have proved it. I will give you a fresh proof +to-day. Go home and tell the people who have sent you, Hans Heinrich +Krafft will give up the share which his house has subscribed to the +Southwestern Railway, in favor of the less wealthy citizens of this +city. This sum of five hundred thousand thalers shall be divided up +_pro rata_ among the subscriptions under five hundred dollars." + +"Heaven bless you, Herr Krafft!" stammered out the court cooper, and +the grain-broker essayed to shed a tear of gratitude; the confidential +clerk Herr Lange, the third of the group, caught at the hand of the +patron to kiss it, with emotion. Krafft drew it back angrily. "No +self-abasement, Herr Lange," he said. "We are men of the people; let +us behave as such. God bless you, gentlemen. You know my purpose. Make +it known to the good people waiting outside, and see that I am rid of +my billeting. Let the subscriptions be conducted quietly and in good +order. Adieu, children!" The deputation withdrew. A few minutes +afterwards there was heard a thundering hurrah:--"Hurrah for Herr +Krafft! Three cheers for Father Krafft!" He showed himself at the +window, nodded quickly and soberly, and motioned to them to disperse. + +While the tumult was subsiding, Krafft and Roland retired into the +private counting-room. "You have," the latter said, "spoken nobly, +acted nobly."--"I have made a bargain, nothing more, nothing less; +moreover, not a bad one."--"How so?"--"In three months I shall buy at +70, perhaps still lower, what I am now to give up to them at +90."--"You know that beforehand?"--"With mathematical certainty. The +public expects an El Dorado in the Southwestern Railway, as it does in +every new enterprise. The undertaking is a good one, it is true, or I +should not have ventured upon it. But one must be able to wait until +the fruit is ripe. The small holders cannot do that; they sow today, +and tomorrow they wish to reap. At the first payment their heart and +their purse are all right. At the second or third, both are gone. Upon +the least rise they will throw the paper, for which they were ready to +break each other's necks, upon the market, and so depreciate their +property. But if some fortuitous circumstance should cause a pressure +upon the money market, then they drop all that they have, in a perfect +panic, for any price. I shall watch this moment, and buy. In a year or +so, when the road is finished and its communications complete, the +shares that were subscribed for at 90, and which I shall have bought +at 60 to 70, will touch 100, or higher." + +"That is to say," said Roland, thoughtfully, "you will gain at the +expense of those people whose confidence you have aroused, then +satisfied with objects of artificial value, and finally drained for +yourself." "Business is business," replied the familiar harsh voice. +"Unless I become a counterfeiter or a forger I can do nothing more +than to convert other persons' money into my own; of course, in an +honest way."--"And you do this, without fearing lest one day some one +mightier and luckier than you should do the same to you?"--"I must be +prepared for that; I am prepared."--"Also for the storm,--not one of +your own creating, but one sent by the wrath of God, that shall +scatter all this paper splendor of our times, and reduce this +appalling social inequality of ours to a universal zero?" "Let us +quietly abide this Last Day," laughed the banker, taking the artist +by the arm. + + + +THE WATCHMAN + + The last faint twinkle now goes out + Up in the poet's attic; + And the roisterers, in merry rout, + Speed home with steps erratic. + + Soft from the house-roofs showers the snow, + The vane creaks on the steeple, + The lanterns wag and glimmer low + In the storm by the hurrying people. + + The houses all stand black and still, + The churches and taverns deserted, + And a body may now wend at his will, + With his own fancies diverted. + + Not a squinting eye now looks this way, + Not a slanderous mouth is dissembling, + And a heart that has slept the livelong day + May now love and hope with trembling. + + Dear Night! thou foe to each base end, + While the good still a blessing prove thee, + They say that thou art no man's friend,-- + Sweet Night! how I therefore love thee! + + + + +DIOGENES LAERTIUS + +(200-250 A. D.?) + + +It is curious how often we are dependent, for our knowledge of some +larger subject, upon a single ancient author, who would be hardly +worthy of notice but for the accidental loss of the books composed by +fitter and abler men. Thus, our only general description of Greece at +the close of the classical period is written by a man who describes +many objects that he certainly did not see, who leaves unmentioned +numberless things we wish explained, and who has a genius for so +misplacing an adverb as to bring confusion into the most commonplace +statement. But not even to Pausanias do we proffer such grudging +gratitude and such ungrateful objurgations as to Diogenes Laertius, +our chief--often our sole--authority for the 'Lives and Sayings of the +Philosophers.' His book is a fascinating one, and even amusing, if we +can forget what we so much wanted in its stead. At second or third +hand, from the compendiums of the schools rather than from the +original works of the great masters themselves, Diogenes does give us +a fairly intelligible sketch, as a rule, of the outward life lived by +each sage. This slight frame is crammed with anecdotes, evidently +culled with most eager and uncritical hand from miscellaneous +collections. Many of these stories are so fragmentary as to be +pointless. Others are unquestionably attached to the wrong person. +This method is at its maddest in the author's sketch of his namesake, +the Recluse of the Tub. (One of Ali Baba's _jars_, by the way, would +give a better notion of the real hermitage.) Since this "philosopher" +had himself little character and no doctrines, the loose string of +anecdotes, puns, and saucy answers suits all our needs. Throughout the +work are scattered, apocryphal letters, and feeble poetic epigrams +composed by the compiler himself. The leaning of our most +unphilosophic author was apparently toward Epicurus. The loss of that +teacher's own works causes us to prize doubly the extensive fragments +of them preserved in this relatively copious and serious study. The +lover of the great Epicurean poem of Lucretius on the 'Nature of +Things' will often be surprised to find here the source of many among +the Roman poet's most striking doctrines and images. The sketch of +Zeno is also an important authority on Stoicism. Instruction in these +particular chapters, then, and rich diversion elsewhere, await the +reader of this most gossipy, formless, and uncritical volume. The +English reader, by the way, ought to be provided with something +better than the "Bohn" version. This adds a goodly harvest of +ludicrous misprints and other errors of every kind to Diogenes's own +mixture of borrowed wisdom and native silliness. The classical student +will prefer the _Didot_ edition by Cobet, with the Latin version in +parallel columns. + +It has been thought desirable to offer here a version, slightly +abridged, of Diogenes's chapter on Socrates. The original sources, in +Plato's and Xenophon's extant works, will almost always explain, or +correct, the statements of Diogenes. Such wild shots as the assertion +that the plague repeatedly visited Athens, striking down _every +inhabitant_ save the temperate Socrates, hardly need a serious +rejoinder. Diogenes cannot even speak with approximate accuracy of +Socrates's famous Dæmon or Inward Monitor. We know, on the best +authority, that it prophesied nothing, even proposed nothing, but only +vetoed the rasher impulses of its human companion. But to apply the +tests of mere accuracy to Diogenes would be like criticizing Uncle +Remus for his sins against English syntax. + +Of the author's life we know nothing. Our assignment of him to the +third century is based merely on the fact that he quotes writers of +the second, and is himself in turn cited by somewhat later authors. + + + +LIFE OF SOCRATES + +From the 'Lives and Sayings of the Philosophers' + + +Socrates was the son of Sophroniscus a sculptor and Phænarete a +midwife [as Plato also states in the 'Theaetetus'], and an Athenian, +of the deme Alopeke. He was believed to aid Euripides in composing his +dramas. Hence Mnesimachus speaks thus:-- + + "This is Euripides's new play, the 'Phrygians': + And Socrates has furnished him the sticks." + +And again:-- + + "Euripides, Socratically patched." + +Callias also, in his 'Captives,' says:-- + + _A_--"Why art so solemn, putting on such airs? + _B_--Indeed I may; the cause is Socrates." + +Aristophanes, in the 'Clouds,' again, remarks:-- + + "And this is he who for Euripides + Composed the talkative wise tragedies." + +He was a pupil of Anaxagoras, according to some authorities, but also +of Damon, as Alexander states in his 'Successions.' After the former's +condemnation he became a disciple of Archelaus the natural +philosopher. But Douris says he was a slave, and carried stones. Some +say, too, that the Graces on the Acropolis are his; they are clothed +figures. Hence, they say, Timon in his 'Silli' declares:-- + + "From them proceeded the stone-polisher, + Prater on law, enchanter of the Greeks, + Who taught the art of subtle argument, + The nose-in-air, mocker of orators, + Half Attic, the adept in irony." + +For he was also clever in discussion. But the Thirty Tyrants, as +Xenophon tells us, forbade him to teach the art of arguing. +Aristophanes also brings him on in comedy, making the Worse Argument +seem the better. He was moreover the first, with his pupil Æschines, +to teach oratory. He was likewise the first who conversed about life, +and the first of the philosophers who came to his end by being +condemned to death. We are also told that he lent out money. At least, +investing it, he would collect what was due, and then after spending +it invest again. But Demetrius the Byzantine says it was Crito who, +struck by the charm of his character, took him out of the workshop and +educated him. + +Realizing that natural philosophy was of no interest to men, it is +said, he discussed ethics, in the workshops and in the agora, and used +to say he was seeking + + "Whatsoever is good in human dwellings, or evil." + +And very often, we are told, when in these discussions he conversed +too violently, he was beaten or had his hair pulled out, and was +usually laughed to scorn. So once when he was kicked, and bore it +patiently, some one expressed surprise; but he said, "If an ass had +kicked me, would I bring an action against him?" + +Foreign travel he did not require, as most men do, except when he had +to serve in the army. At other times, remaining in Athens, he disputed +in argumentative fashion with those who conversed with him, not so as +to deprive them of their belief, but to strive for the ascertainment +of truth. They say Euripides gave him the work of Heraclitus, and +asked him, "What do you think of it?" And he said, "What I understood +is fine; I suppose what I did not understand is, too; only it needs a +Delian diver!" He attended also to physical training, and was in +excellent condition. Moreover, he went on the expedition to +Amphipolis, and when Xenophon had fallen from his horse in the battle +of Delium he picked him up and saved him. Indeed, when all the other +Athenians were fleeing he retreated slowly, turning about calmly, and +on the lookout to defend himself if attacked. He also joined the +expedition to Potidæa--by sea, for the war prevented a march by land; +and it was there he was said once to have remained standing in one +position all night. There too, it is said, he was pre-eminent in +valor, but gave up the prize to Alcibiades, of whom he is stated to +have been very fond. Ion of Chios says moreover that when young he +visited Samos with Archelaus, and Aristotle states that he went to +Delphi. Favorinus again, in the first book of his 'Commentaries' says +he went to the Isthmus. + +He was also very firm in his convictions and devoted to the democracy, +as was evident from his not yielding to Critias and his associates +when they bade him bring Leon of Salamis, a wealthy man, to them to be +put to death. He was also the only one who opposed the condemnation of +the ten generals. When he could have escaped from prison, too, he +would not. The friends who wept at his fate he reproved, and while in +prison he composed those beautiful discourses. + +He was also temperate and austere. Once, as Pamphila tells us in the +seventh book of her 'Commentaries,' Alcibiades offered him a great +estate, on which to build a house; and he said, "If I needed sandals, +and you offered me a hide from which to make them for myself, I should +be laughed at if I took it." Often, too, beholding the multitude of +things for sale, he would say to himself, "How many things I do not +need!" He used constantly to repeat aloud these iambic verses:-- + + "But silver plate and garb of purple dye + To actors are of use,--but not in life." + +He disdained the tyrants,--Archelaus of Macedon, Scopas of Crannon, +Eurylochus of Melissa,--not accepting gifts from them nor visiting +them. He was so regular in his way of living that he was frequently +the only one not ill when Athens was attacked by the plague. + +Aristotle says he wedded two wives, the first Xanthippe, who bore him +Lamprocles, and the second Myrto, daughter of Aristides the Just, +whom he received without dowry and by whom he had Sophroniscus and +Menexenus. Some however say he married Myrto first; and some again +that he had them both at once, as the Athenians on account of scarcity +of men passed a law to increase the population, permitting any one to +marry one Athenian woman and have children by another; so Socrates did +this. + +He was a man also able to disdain those who mocked him. He prided +himself on his simple manner of living, and never exacted any pay. +He used to say he who ate with best appetite had least need of +delicacies, and he who drank with best appetite had least need to seek +a draught not at hand; and that he who had fewest needs was nearest +the gods. This indeed we may learn from the comic poets, who in their +very ridicule covertly praise him. Thus Aristophanes says:-- + + "O thou who hast righteously set thy heart on attaining to noble + wisdom, + How happy the life thou wilt lead among the Athenians and the + Hellenes! + Shrewdness and memory both are thine, and energy unwearied + Of mind; and never art thou tired from standing or from walking. + By cold thou art not vexed at all, nor dost thou long for breakfast. + Wine thou dost shun, and gluttony, and every other folly." + +Ameipsias also, bringing him upon the stage in the philosopher's +cloak, says:-- + + "O Socrates, best among few men, most foolish of many, thou also + Art come unto us; thou'rt a patient soul; but where didst get that + doublet? + That wretched thing in mockery was presented by the cobblers! + Yet though so hungry, he never however has stooped to flatter a + mortal." + +This disdain and arrogance in Socrates has also been exposed by +Aristophanes, who says:-- + + "Along the streets you haughtily strut; your eyes roll hither and + thither: + Barefooted, enduring discomforts, you go with countenance solemn + among us." + +And yet sometimes, suiting himself to the occasion, he dressed finely; +as when for instance in Plato's 'Symposium' he goes to Agathon's. + +He was a man able both to urge others to action, and to dissuade them. +Thus, when he conversed with Theætetus on Knowledge, he sent him away +inspired, as Plato says. Again, when Euthyphron had indicted his own +father for manslaughter, by conversing with him on piety Socrates +turned him from his purpose. Lysis also by his exhortations he +rendered a most moral man. He was moreover skillful in fitting his +arguments to the circumstances. He changed the feeling of his son +Lamprocles when he was enraged with his mother, as Xenophon somewhere +relates. Plato's brother Glaucon, who wished to be active in politics, +he dissuaded because of his inexperience, as Xenophon states; but +Charmides on the other hand, who was well fitted, he urged on. He +roused the spirit of Iphicrates the general also, pointing out to him +the cocks of Midias the barber fighting those of Callias. He said it +was strange that every man could tell easily how many sheep he had, +but could not call by name the friends whom he had acquired, so +negligent were men in that regard. Once seeing Euclid devoting great +pains to captious arguments, he said, "O Euclid, you will be able to +manage sophists--but men, never!" For he thought hair-splitting on +such matters useless, as Plato also says in his 'Euthydemus.' + +When Glaucon offered him some slaves, so that he might make a profit +on them, he did not take them. + +He praised leisure as the best of possessions, as Xenophon also says +in his 'Symposium.' He used to say, too, that there was but one +good--knowledge; and one evil--ignorance. Wealth and birth, he said, +had no value, but were on the contrary wholly an evil. So when some +one told him Antisthenes's mother was a Thracian, "Did you think," +quoth he, "so fine a man must be the child of two Athenians?" When +Phaedo had been captured in war and shamefully enslaved, Socrates bade +Crito ransom him, and made him a philosopher. + +He also learned, when already an old man, to play the lyre, saying +there was no absurdity in learning what one did not know. He used to +dance frequently, too, thinking this exercise helpful to health. This +Xenophon tells us in the 'Symposium.' + +He used to say that his Dæmon foretold future events: and that he knew +nothing, except that very fact that he did know nothing. Those who +bought at a great price what was out of season, he said, had no hope +of living till the season came around. Once being asked what was +virtue in a young man, he said, "To avoid excess in all things." He +used to say one should study geometry (surveying) just enough to be +able to measure land in buying and selling it. + +When Euripides in the 'Auge' said of virtue:-- + + "These things were better left to lie untouched," + +he rose up and left the theatre, saying it was absurd to think it +proper to seek for a slave if he was not to be found, but to let +virtue perish unregarded. When his advice was asked whether to marry +or not, he said, "Whichever you do, you will regret it!" He used to +say that he marveled that those who made stone statues took pains to +make the stone as like the man as possible, but took none with +themselves, that they might not be like the stone. He thought it +proper for the young to look constantly in the mirror, so that if they +had beauty they might prove themselves worthy of it, and if they were +ugly, that they might conceal their ugliness by their accomplishments. + +When he had invited rich friends to dinner, and Xanthippe was ashamed, +he said, "Do not be troubled. If they are sensible, they will bear +with us. If not, we shall care nothing for them." Most men, he said, +lived to eat; but he ate to live. As to those who showed regard for +the opinions of the ignoble multitude, he said it was as if a man +should reject one tetradrachm [coin] as worthless, but accept a heap +of such coins as good. When Æschines said, "I am poor and have nothing +else, but I give you myself," he said, "Do you then not realize you +are offering me the greatest of gifts?" To him who said, "The +Athenians have condemned you to death," he responded, "And nature has +condemned them also thereto:" though some ascribe this to Anaxagoras. +When his wife exclaimed, "You die innocent!" he answered, "Do you wish +I were guilty?" + +When a vision in sleep seemed to say:-- + + "Three days hence thou'lt come to the fertile region of Phthia," + +he said to Æschines, "On the third day I shall die." When he was to +drink the hemlock, Apollodorus gave him a fine garment to die in: "But +why," quoth he, "is this garment of mine good enough to live in, but +not to perish in?" To him who said, "So-and-so speaks ill of you," he +answered, "Yes, he has not learned to speak well." When Antisthenes +turned the ragged side of his cloak to the light, he remarked, "I see +your vanity through your cloak." He declared we ought to put +ourselves expressly at the service of the comedy writers: "For if they +say anything about us that is true, they will correct us; and if what +they say be untrue, it does not concern us at all." + +When Xanthippe had first reviled him, then drenched him with water, +"Didn't I tell you," said he, "it was thundering and would soon rain?" +To Alcibiades, who said Xanthippe's scolding was unbearable, he +replied, "I am accustomed to it, as to a constantly creaking pulley. +And you," he added, "endure the cackling of geese." Alcibiades said, +"Yes, for they bring me eggs and goslings." "And Xanthippe," retorted +Socrates, "bears me children." Once when she pulled off his cloak in +the agora, his friends advised him to defend himself with force. +"Yes," said he, "by Jove, so that as we fight, each of you may cry, +'Well done, Socrates!' 'Good for you, Xanthippe!'" He used to say he +practiced on Xanthippe just as trainers do with spirited horses. "Just +as they if they master them are able to control any other horse, so I +who am accustomed to Xanthippe shall get on easily with any one else." + +It was for such words and acts as this that the Delphic priestess bore +witness in his honor, giving to Chairephon that famous response:-- + + "Wisest of all mankind is Socrates." + +He became extremely unpopular on account of this oracle; but also +because he convicted of ignorance those who had a great opinion of +themselves, particularly Anytus, as Plato also says in the 'Meno.' For +Anytus, enraged at the ridicule Socrates brought upon him, first urged +Aristophanes and the rest on to attack him, and then induced Meletus +to join in indicting him for impiety and for corrupting the young men. +Plato in the 'Apology' says there were three accusers,--Anytus, Lycon, +and Meletus: Anytus being incensed at him in behalf of the artisans +and politicians, Lycon for the orators, and Meletus for the poets, all +of whom Socrates pulled to pieces. The sworn statement of the +plaintiffs ran as follows; for it is still recorded, Favorinus says, +in the State archives:--"Socrates is guilty, not honoring the gods +whom the State honors, but introducing other strange divinities; and +he is further guilty of corrupting the young. Penalty, death." + +When Lysias wrote a speech for his defense, he read it, and said, "A +fine speech, Lysias, but not suited to me;" for indeed it was rather +a lawyer's plea than a philosopher's. Lysias said, "But why, if the +speech is a fine one, should it not be suitable for you?" Socrates +replied, "Would not fine robes, then, and sandals, be unfitting for +me?" + +While he was on trial, it is stated that Plato ascended the _bema_ and +began, "Being the youngest, O men of Athens, of all who ever came upon +the bema"--but at this point the judges cried out, "Come down! come +down!" So he was convicted by two hundred and eighty-one votes more +than were cast for his acquittal. And when the judges considered what +penalty or fine he should receive, he said he would pay +five-and-twenty drachmæ. Euboulides says he agreed to pay a hundred, +but when the judges expressed their indignation aloud, he said, "For +what I have done, I consider the proper return to be support at the +public expense in the town hall." But they condemned him to death, the +vote being larger than before by eighty. + +Not many days later he drank the hemlock in the prison, after uttering +many noble words, recorded by Plato in the 'Phædo.' According to some, +he wrote a poem beginning-- + + "Greeting, Apollo of Delos, and Artemis, youthful and famous." + +He also versified, not very successfully, a fable of Æsop's which +began-- + + "Æsop once to the people who dwell in the city of Corinth + Said, 'Let virtue be judged not by the popular voice.'" + +So he passed from among men; but straightway the Athenians repented of +their action, so that they closed the gymnasia, and exiling the other +accusers, put Meletus to death. Socrates they honored with a statue of +bronze, the work of Lysippus, which was set up in the Pompeion. Anytus +in exile, entering Heraclea, was warned out of town that very day. + +The Athenians have had the same experience not only in Socrates's +case, but with many others. Indeed, it is stated that they fined Homer +as a madman, and adjudged Tyrtæus to be crazy. Euripides reproves them +in the 'Palamedes,' saying:-- + + "Ye have slain, ye have slain the all-wise, the harmless + nightingale of the Muses." + +That is so. But Philochorus says Euripides died before Socrates. + +Socrates and Euripides were both disciples of Anaxagoras. It appears +to me, too, that Socrates did talk on natural philosophy. In fact, +Xenophon says so, though he states that Socrates held discourse only +upon moral questions. Plato indeed, in the 'Apology,' mentioning +Anaxagoras and other natural philosophers, himself says of them things +whereof Socrates denies any knowledge; yet it is all ascribed to +Socrates. + +Aristotle states that a certain mage from Syria came to Athens, and +among other prophecies concerning Socrates foretold that his death +would be a violent one. + +The following verses upon him are our own:-- + + Drink, in the palace of Zeus, O Socrates, seeing that truly + Thou by a god wert called wise, who is wisdom itself. + Foolish Athenians, who to thee offered the potion of hemlock, + Through thy lips themselves draining the cup to the dregs! + + Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by + William C. Lawton. + + + +EXAMPLES OF GREEK WIT AND WISDOM + + +BIAS + +Once he was on a voyage with some impious men. The vessel was +overtaken by a storm, and they began to call upon the gods for aid. +But Bias said, "Be silent, so they may not discover that you are +aboard our ship!" + +He declared it was pleasanter to decide a dispute between his enemies +than between friends. "For of two friends," he explained, "one is sure +to become my enemy; but of two enemies I make one friend." + + +PLATO + +It is said Socrates, in a dream, seemed to be holding on his knees a +cygnet, which suddenly grew wings and flew aloft, singing sweetly. +Next day Plato came to him; and Socrates said he was the bird. + +It is told that Plato, once seeing a man playing at dice, reproved +him. "The stake is but a trifle," said the other. "Yes, but," +responded Plato, "the habit is no trifle." + +Once when Xenocrates came into Plato's house, the latter bade him +scourge his slave for him, explaining that he could not do it +himself, because he was angry. Again, he said to one of his slaves, +"You would have had a beating if I were not angry." + + +ARISTIPPUS + +Dionysius once asked him why it is that the philosophers are seen at +rich men's doors, not the rich men at the doors of the sages. +Aristippus replied, "Because the wise realize what they lack, but the +rich do not." On a repetition of the taunt on another occasion he +retorted, "Yes, and physicians are seen at sick men's doors; yet none +would choose to be the patient rather than the leech!" + +Once when overtaken by a storm on a voyage to Corinth, he was badly +frightened. Somebody said to him, "We ordinary folk are not afraid, +but you philosophers play the coward." "Yes," was his reply, "we are +not risking the loss of any such wretched life as yours." + +Some one reproached him for his extravagance in food. He answered, +"If you could buy these same things for threepence, wouldn't you +do it?"--"Oh yes."--"Why then, 'tis not I who am too fond of the +luxurious food, but you that are over-fond of your money!" + + +ARISTOTLE + +When asked, "What is Hope?" he answered, "The dream of a man awake." +Asked what grows old quickest, he replied, "Gratitude." When told that +some one had slandered him in his absence, he said, "He may beat me +too--in my absence!" Being asked how much advantage the educated have +over the ignorant, he replied, "As much as the living over the dead." + +Some one asked him why we spend much time in the society of the +beautiful. "That," he said, "is a proper question for a blind man!" +[_Cf._ Emerson's 'Rhodora.'] + +Once being asked how we should treat our friends, he said, "As we +would wish them to treat us." Asked what a friend is, he answered, +"One soul abiding in two bodies." + + +THEOPHRASTUS + +To a man who at a feast was persistently silent, he remarked, "If you +are ignorant, you are acting wisely; if you are intelligent, you are +behaving foolishly." + + +DEMETRIUS + +It was a saying of his that to friends in prosperity we should go when +invited, but to those in misfortune unbidden. + +When told that the Athenians had thrown down his statues, he answered, +"But not my character, for which they erected them." + + +ANTISTHENES + +Some one asked him what he gained from philosophy. He replied, "The +power to converse with myself." + +He advised the Athenians to pass a vote that asses were horses. When +they thought that irrational, he said, "But certainly, your generals +are not such because they have learned anything, but simply because +you have elected them!" + + +DIOGENES + +He used to say that when in the course of his life he saw pilots, and +physicians, and philosophers, he thought man the most sensible of +animals; but when he saw interpreters of dreams, and soothsayers, and +those who paid attention to them, and those puffed up by fame or +wealth, he believed no creature was sillier than man. + +Some said to him, "You are an old man. Take life easy now." He +replied, "And if I were running the long-distance race, should I when +nearing the goal slacken, and not rather exert myself?" + +When he saw a child drink out of his hands, he took the cup out of his +wallet and flung it away, saying, "A child has beaten me in +simplicity." + +He used to argue thus, "All things belong to the gods. The wise are +the friends of the gods. The goods of friends are common property. +Therefore all things belong to the wise." + +To one who argued that _motion_ was impossible, he made no answer, but +rose and walked away. + +When the Athenians urged him to be initiated into the Mysteries, +assuring him that in Hades those who were initiated have the front +seats, he replied, "It is ludicrous, if Agesilaus and Epaminondas are +to abide in the mud, and some ignoble wretches who are initiated are +to dwell in the Isles of the Blest!" + +Plato made the definition "Man is a two-footed featherless animal," +and was much praised for it. Diogenes plucked a fowl and brought it +into his school, saying "This is Plato's man!" So the addition was +made to the definition, "with broad nails." + +When a man asked him what was the proper hour for lunch, he said, "If +you are rich, when you please; if you are poor, when you can get it." + +He used often to shout aloud that an easy life had been given by the +gods to men, but they had covered it from sight in their search for +honey-cakes and perfumes and such things. + +The musician who was always left alone by his hearers he greeted with +"Good morning, cock!" When the other asked him the reason, he said, +"Because your music starts everybody up." + +When an exceedingly superstitious man said to him, "With one blow I +will break your head!" he retorted, "And with a sneeze at your left +side I will make you tremble." + +When asked what animal had the worst bite, he said, "Of wild beasts, +the sycophant; and of tame creatures, the flatterer." + +Being asked when was the proper time to marry, he responded, "For +young men, not yet; and for old men, not at all." + +When he was asked what sort of wine he enjoyed drinking, he answered, +"Another man's." [Of a different temper was Dante, who knew too well +"how salt the bread of others tastes!"] + +Some one advised him to hunt up his runaway slave. But he replied, "It +is ridiculous if Manes lives without Diogenes, but Diogenes cannot +without Manes." + +When asked why men give to beggars, but not to philosophers, he said, +"Because they expect themselves to become lame and blind; but +philosophers, never!" + + +CLEANTHES + +When a comic actor apologized for having ridiculed him from +the stage, he answered gently, "It would be preposterous, when +Bacchus and Hercules bear the raillery of the poets without +showing any anger, if I should be indignant when I chance to +be attacked." + + +PYTHAGORAS + +_Precepts_ + + Do not stir the fire with a sword. + Do not devour your heart. + Always have your bed packed up. + Do not walk in the main street. + Do not cherish birds with crooked talons. + Avoid a sharp sword. + When you travel abroad, look not back at your own borders. + [Diogenes explains this: be resigned to death.] + Consider nothing exclusively your own. + Destroy no cultivated tree, or harmless animal. + Modesty and decorum consist in never yielding to laughter, + and yet not looking stern. [_Cf._ Emerson on Manners.] + + Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by + William C. Lawton. + + + + +ISAAC D'ISRAELI + +(1766-1848) + +[Illustration: ISAAC D'ISRAELI] + + +Among the writers whose education and whose tastes were the outcome +of the classicism of the eighteenth century, yet whose literary life +lapped over into the Victorian epoch, was Isaac D'Israeli, born at +Enfield in May 1766. D'Israeli was of Jewish origin, his ancestors +having fled from the Spanish persecutions of the fifteenth century to +find a home in Venice, whence a younger branch migrated to England. + +At the time of his birth his family had stood for generations among +the foremost English Jews, his father having been made a citizen by +special legislation. The boy, however, did not inherit the commercial +spirit which had established his house. He was a lover of books and a +dreamer of dreams, and so early developed literary tendencies that his +frightened father sent him off to Amsterdam to school, in the hope of +curing proclivities so dangerous. Here he became familiar with the +works of the Encyclopædists, and adopted the theories of Rousseau. +On returning to England in his nineteenth year, he replied to his +father's proposition that he should enter a commercial house at +Bordeaux, by a long poem in which he passionately inveighed against +the commercial spirit, and avowed himself a student of philosophy and +letters. His father's reluctant acquiescence was obtained at last +through the good offices of the laureate Pye, to whom the youth had +already dedicated his first book, 'A Defence of Poetry.' + +At the outset of his career he found himself received with +consideration by the men whose acquaintance he most desired. Following +the fashion of the day, and inspired by the books of anecdotes so +successfully published by his friend Douce, D'Israeli in 1791 produced +anonymously a small volume entitled 'Curiosities of Literature,' the +copyright of which he magnanimously presented to his publisher. The +extraordinary success of this book can be accounted for only by the +curious taste of the time, which still reflected the more unworthy +traditions of the Addisonian era. It was an age of clubs and +tea-tables, of society scandal-mongering and fireside gossip; and the +reading public welcomed a contribution whose refined dilettantism so +well matched its own. The mysteries of Eleusis and the origin of wigs +received the same grave attention. This popularity induced D'Israeli +to buy back the copyright at a generous valuation; he enlarged the +work to five volumes, which passed through twelve in his own lifetime, +and still serves to illustrate a curious literary phase. + +Other compilations of similar nature met the same success: 'The +Calamities of Authors,' 'Quarrels of Authors,' and 'Literary +Recollections'; but the 'Amenities of Literature,' his last work, is +the most purely literary in form, and affords perhaps the best index +to D'Israeli's abilities as a writer. The reader of to-day, however, +is struck by the ephemeral nature of this criticism, which yet by a +curious literary experience is keeping a place among the permanent +productions of its age. The reader is everywhere impressed by the +human sympathy, by the wide if rather superficial knowledge, and by +innumerable felicities of expression and style, which betray the +cultivated mind. To lovers of the curious the books still appeal, and +they will continue to hold an honorable place among the bric-a-brac of +literature. + +The spirit of curiosity which characterized the mind of D'Israeli +assumed its most dignified concrete form in the 'Commentaries on the +Reign of Charles I.' D'Israeli had an artistic sense of the values in +a historical picture, with a keen perception of the importance of side +lights; and although the book is not a great contribution to the +literature of history, yet it became popular, and in July 1832 earned +for its author the degree of D.C.L. from Oxford. + +D'Israeli's romances were tedious tales, but his hold upon the public +was secure, and the vast amount of miscellaneous matter which he +published always found a delighted audience. 'The Genius of Judaism,' +a philosophical inquiry into the historical significance of +the permanence of the Jewish race, showed the author's psychic +limitations. He designed a history of English literature, for which +he had gathered much material, but increasing blindness forced him to +abandon it. Much of D'Israeli's popularity was unquestionably due to +his qualities of heart. His nature was fine; he was an affectionate +and devoted friend, and held an enviable position in the literary +circles of the day. Campbell, Byron, Rogers, and Scott alike admired +and loved him, while a host of lesser men eagerly sought his +friendship. + +Although brought up in the Jewish faith, D'Israeli affiliated early in +life with the Church of England, in which his three sons and one +daughter were baptized. He died in 1848, and was buried at Brandenham. +Twenty years later his daughter-in-law, the Countess of Beaconsfield, +erected at Hughenden a monument to his memory. + + [Illustration: _OLD BLACK-LETTER QUARTO_. + + Slightly reduced facsimile of title-page of first edition of + "THE POSIES." + + London, about 1572. Original, 4-1/8 x 6-3/8 inches. + + An example of title-page, typography, and spelling a hundred + years after the introduction of printing into England. The + Old English, Gothic, or Black-letter type was being superseded + by the modern "Roman;" and on this title page both forms were + used. + + A Hundreth sundrie Flowres bounde vp in one small Poesie. + + Gathered partely (by translation) in the fyne outlandish + Gardins of Euripides, Ouid, Petrarke, Ariosto, and others: + and partly by inuention, out of our owne fruitefull Orchardes + in Englande: + + Yelding sundrie sweet fauours of Tragical, Comical, and + Morall Discourses, bothe pleasaunt and profitable to the well + smellyng noses of learned Readers. + + =Meritum petere, graue.= + + AT LONDON, Imprinted for Richarde Smith.] + + + +POETS, PHILOSOPHERS, AND ARTISTS MADE BY ACCIDENT + +From 'Curiosities of Literature' + + +Accident has frequently occasioned the most eminent geniuses to +display their powers. It was at Rome, says Gibbon, on the fifteenth of +October, 1764, as I sat musing amidst the ruins of the Capitol, while +the barefooted friars were singing vespers in the Temple of Jupiter, +that the idea of writing the decline and fall of the city first +started to my mind. + +Father Malebranche, having completed his studies in philosophy and +theology without any other intention than devoting himself to some +religious order, little expected the celebrity his works acquired for +him. Loitering in an idle hour in the shop of a bookseller, and +turning over a parcel of books, 'L'Homme de Descartes' fell into his +hands. Having dipt into some parts, he read with such delight that the +palpitations of his heart compelled him to lay the volume down. It was +this circumstance that produced those profound contemplations which +made him the Plato of his age. + +Cowley became a poet by accident. In his mother's apartment he found, +when very young, Spenser's 'Fairy Queen,' and by a continual study of +poetry he became so enchanted of the Muse that he grew irrecoverably a +poet. + +Dr. Johnson informs us that Sir Joshua Reynolds had the first fondness +of his art excited by the perusal of Richardson's Treatise. + +Vaucanson displayed an uncommon genius for mechanics. His taste was +first determined by an accident: when young, he frequently attended +his mother to the residence of her confessor; and while she wept with +repentance, he wept with weariness! In this state of disagreeable +vacation, says Helvetius, he was struck with the uniform motion of the +pendulum of the clock in the hall. His curiosity was roused; he +approached the clock-case, and studied its mechanism; what he could +not discover he guessed at. He then projected a similar machine, and +gradually his genius produced a clock. Encouraged by this first +success, he proceeded in his various attempts; and the genius which +thus could form a clock, in time formed a fluting automaton. + +If Shakespeare's imprudence had not obliged him to quit his wool trade +and his town; if he had not engaged with a company of actors, and at +length, disgusted with being an indifferent performer, he had not +turned author, the prudent wool-seller had never been the celebrated +poet. + +Accident determined the taste of Molière for the stage. His +grandfather loved the theatre, and frequently carried him there. The +young man lived in dissipation; the father, observing it, asked in +anger if his son was to be made an actor. "Would to God," replied the +grandfather, "he was as good an actor as Montrose." The words struck +young Molière; he took a disgust to his tapestry trade; and it is to +this circumstance France owes her greatest comic writer. + +Corneille loved; he made verses for his mistress, became a poet, +composed 'Mélite,' and afterwards his other celebrated works. The +discreet Corneille had remained a lawyer. + +Thus it is that the devotion of a mother, the death of Cromwell, +deer-stealing, the exclamation of an old man, and the beauty of a +woman, have given five illustrious characters to Europe. + +We owe the great discovery of Newton to a very trivial accident. When +a student at Cambridge, he had retired during the time of the plague +into the country. As he was reading under an apple-tree, one of the +fruit fell, and struck him a smart blow on the head. When he observed +the smallness of the apple, he was surprised at the force of the +stroke. This led him to consider the accelerating motion of falling +bodies; from whence he deduced the principle of gravity, and laid the +foundation of his philosophy. + +Ignatius Loyola was a Spanish gentleman who was dangerously wounded at +the siege of Pampeluna. Having heated his imagination by reading the +Lives of the Saints, which were brought to him in his illness instead +of a romance, he conceived a strong ambition to be the founder of a +religious order; whence originated the celebrated society of the +Jesuits. + +Rousseau found his eccentric powers first awakened by the +advertisement of the singular annual subject which the Academy of +Dijon proposed for that year, in which he wrote his celebrated +Declamation against the arts and sciences; a circumstance which +determined his future literary efforts. + +La Fontaine, at the age of twenty-two, had not taken any profession or +devoted himself to any pursuit. Having accidentally heard some verses +of Malherbe, he felt a sudden impulse, which directed his future +life. He immediately bought a Malherbe, and was so exquisitely +delighted with this poet that after passing the nights in treasuring +his verses in his memory, he would run in the daytime to the woods, +where, concealing himself, he would recite his verses to the +surrounding dryads. + +Flamsteed was an astronomer by accident. He was taken from school on +account of his illness, when Sacrobosco's book 'De Sphæra' having been +lent to him, he was so pleased with it that he immediately began a +course of astronomic studies. Pennant's first propensity to natural +history was the pleasure he received from an accidental perusal of +Willoughby's work on birds; the same accident, of finding on the table +of his professor Reaumur's 'History of Insects,'--of which he read +more than he attended to the lecture.--and having been refused the +loan, gave such an instant turn to the mind of Bonnet that he hastened +to obtain a copy, but found many difficulties in procuring this costly +work. Its possession gave an unalterable direction to his future life: +this naturalist indeed lost the use of his sight by his devotion to +the microscope. + +Dr. Franklin attributes the cast of his genius to a similar accident. +"I found a work of Defoe's, entitled an 'Essay on Projects,' from +which perhaps I derived impressions that have since influenced some of +the principal events of my life." + +I shall add the incident which occasioned Roger Ascham to write his +'Schoolmaster,' one of the most curious and useful treatises among our +elder writers. + +At a dinner given by Sir William Cecil during the plague in 1563, at +his apartments at Windsor, where the Queen had taken refuge, a number +of ingenious men were invited. Secretary Cecil communicated the news +of the morning, that several scholars at Eton had run away on account +of their master's severity, which he condemned as a great error in the +education of youth. Sir William Petre maintained the contrary; severe +in his own temper, he pleaded warmly in defense of hard flogging. Dr. +Wootton, in softer tones, sided with the Secretary. Sir John Mason, +adopting no side, bantered both. Mr. Haddon seconded the hard-hearted +Sir William Petre, and adduced as an evidence that the best +schoolmaster then in England was the hardest flogger. Then was it that +Roger Ascham indignantly exclaimed that if such a master had an able +scholar it was owing to the boy's genius and not the preceptor's rod. +Secretary Cecil and others were pleased with Ascham's notions. Sir +Richard Sackville was silent; but when Ascham after dinner went to the +Queen to read one of the orations of Demosthenes, he took him aside, +and frankly told him that though he had taken no part in the debate he +would not have been absent from that conversation for a great deal; +that he knew to his cost the truth Ascham had supported, for it was +the perpetual flogging of such a schoolmaster that had given him an +unconquerable aversion to study. And as he wished to remedy this +defect in his own children, he earnestly exhorted Ascham to write his +observations on so interesting a topic. Such was the circumstance +which produced the admirable treatise of Roger Ascham. + + + +THE MARTYRDOM OF CHARLES THE FIRST + +From the 'Commentaries on the Reign of Charles the First' + + +At Whitehall a repast had been prepared. The religious emotions of +Charles had consecrated the sacrament, which he refused to mingle with +human food. The Bishop, whose mind was unequal to conceive the +intrepid spirit of the King, dreading lest the magnanimous monarch, +overcome by the severity of the cold, might faint on the scaffold, +prevailed on him to eat half a manchet of bread and taste some claret. +But the more consolatory refreshment of Charles had been just imparted +to him in that singular testimony from his son, who had sent a _carte +blanche_ to save the life of his father at any price. This was a +thought on which his affections could dwell in face of the scaffold +which he was now to ascend. + +Charles had arrived at Whitehall about ten o'clock, and was not led to +the scaffold till past one. It was said that the scaffold was not +completed; it might have been more truly said that the conspirators +were not ready. There was a mystery in this delay. The fate of Charles +the First to the very last moment was in suspense. Fairfax, though at +the time in the palace, inquired of Herbert how the King was, when the +King was no more! and expressed his astonishment on hearing that the +execution had just taken place. This extraordinary simplicity and +abstraction from the present scene of affairs has been imputed to the +General as an act of refined dissimulation, yet this seems uncertain. +The Prince's _carte blanche_ had been that morning confided to his +hands, and he surely must have laid it before the "Grandees of the +Army," as this new order of the rulers of England was called. Fairfax, +whose personal feelings respecting the King were congenial with those +his lady had so memorably evinced, labored to defer for a few days the +terrible catastrophe; not without the hope of being able, by his own +regiment and others in the army, to prevent the deed altogether. It is +probable--inexplicable as it may seem to us--that the execution of +Charles the First really took place unknown to the General. Fairfax +was not unaccustomed to discover that his colleagues first acted, and +afterwards trusted to his own discernment. + + [Illustration: _CHARLES I. GOING TO EXECUTION._ + Photogravure from a painting by E. Crofts.] + +Secret history has not revealed all that passed in those three awful +hours. We know, however, that the warrant for the execution was not +signed till within a few minutes before the King was led to the +scaffold. In an apartment in the Palace, Ireton and Harrison were in +bed together, and Cromwell, with four colonels, assembled in it. +Colonel Huncks refused to sign the warrant. Cromwell would have no +further delay, reproaching the Colonel as "a peevish, cowardly +fellow," and Colonel Axtell declared that he was ashamed for his +friend Huncks, remonstrating with him, that "the ship is coming into +the harbor, and now would he strike sail before we come to anchor?" +Cromwell stepped to a table, and wrote what he had proposed to Huncks; +Colonel Hacker, supplying his place, signed it, and with the ink +hardly dry, carried the warrant in his hand and called for the King. + +At the fatal summons Charles rose with alacrity. The King passed +through the long gallery by a line of soldiers. Awe and sorrow seem +now to have mingled in their countenances. Their barbarous commanders +were intent on their own triumph, and no farther required the forced +cry of "Justice and Execution." Charles stepped out of an enlarged +window of the Banqueting House, where a new opening leveled it with +the scaffold. Charles came forward with the same indifference as "he +would have entered Whitehall on a masque night," as an intelligent +observer described. The King looked towards St. James's and smiled. +Curious eyes were watchful of his slightest motions; and the +Commonwealth papers of the day express their surprise, perhaps their +vexation, at the unaltered aspect and the firm step of the Monarch. +These mean spirits had flattered themselves that he who had been +cradled in royalty, who had lived years in the fields of honor, and +was now, they presumed, a recreant in imprisonment,--"the grand +Delinquent of England,"--as they called him, would start in horror at +the block. + +This last triumph at least was not reserved for them,--it was for the +King. Charles, dauntless, strode "the floor of Death," to use Fuller's +peculiar but expressive phraseology. He looked on the block with the +axe lying upon it, with attention; his only anxiety was that the block +seemed not sufficiently raised, and that the edge of the axe might be +turned by being swept by the flappings of cloaks, or blunted by the +feet of some moving about the scaffold. "Take care they do not put me +to pain!--Take heed of the axe! take heed of the axe!" exclaimed the +King to a gentleman passing by. "Hurt not the axe; that may hurt me!" +His continued anxiety concerning these _circumstances_ proves that he +felt not the terror of death, solely anxious to avoid the pain, for he +had an idea of their cruelty. With that sedate thoughtfulness which +was in all his actions, he only looked at the business of the hour. +One circumstance Charles observed with a smile. They had a notion that +the King would resist the executioner; on the suggestion of Hugh +Peters, it is said, they had driven iron staples and ropes into the +scaffold, that their victim, if necessary, might be bound down upon +the block. + +The King's speech has many remarkable points, but certainly nothing so +remarkable as the place where it was delivered. This was the first +"King's Speech" spoken from a scaffold. Time shall confirm, as history +has demonstrated, his principle that "They mistook the nature of +government; for people are free under a government, not by being +sharers in it, but by the due administration of the laws." "It was for +this," said Charles, "that now I am come here. If I could have given +way to an arbitrary sway, for to have all laws changed according to +the power of the sword, I need not have come here; and therefore I +tell you that I am _the Martyr of the People_!" + + + + +SYDNEY DOBELL + +(1824-1874) + + +Sydney Dobell, the son of a wine merchant, was born at Cranbrook in +Kent. His parents, both persons of strong individuality, believed in +home training, and not one of their eight children went either to +school or to university. They belonged to the Broad Church Community +founded by Sydney's maternal grandfather, Samuel Thompson; a church +intended to recall in its principles the primitive Christian ages. The +parents looked upon Sydney, their eldest-born, as destined to become +the apostle of this creed. He grew up in a kind of religious fervor, +with his precocious mind unnaturally stimulated; a course of conduct +which materially weakened his constitution, and made him a chronic +invalid at the early age of thirty-three. He read whatever books came +to hand, many of them far beyond his years. At the age of eight he +filled his diary with theological discussions. + +Entering his father's counting-house as a mere lad, he remained to the +end of his life a business man of great energy. Notwithstanding his +rare poetic endowments, he never seems to have entertained a +single-minded purpose to be a poet and nothing more. On the contrary, +he thought the ideal and the practical life perfectly compatible, and +he strove to unite in himself the poet and the man of affairs. He +wrote habitually until 1856, when regular literary work was forbidden +by his physicians. With characteristic energy he now turned his +thoughts into other channels; identified himself with the affairs of +Gloucester, where he was living, looked after his business, and was +one of the first to adopt the system of industrial co-operation. The +last four years of his life, a period of suffering and helplessness, +he spent at Barton-End House, above the Stroud valley, where he died +in the spring of 1874. + +In the work of Dobell it is curious to find so few traces of the +influences under which he grew up. He had every encouragement to +become a writer of religious poetry; yet much of his work is +philosophic and recondite. His delicate health is in a measure +responsible for his failure to achieve the success which his natural +endowments promised. All his literary work was done between the ages +of twenty-three and thirty-three. 'The Roman,' his first long poem, +appeared in 1850. Dedicated to the Italian struggle for liberty, it +showed his breadth of sympathy. In 'Balder,' finished in 1853, Dobell +is at his best both as thinker and as poet. Yet its many fine +passages, its wealth of metaphor, and the exquisite songs of Amy, +hardly counterbalance the remoteness of its theme, and its over-subtle +analysis of morbid psychic states. It is a poem to be read in +fragments, and has aptly been called a mine for poets. + +With Alexander Smith he published in 1855 a series of sonnets inspired +by the Crimean War. This was followed in 1856 by 'England in War +Time,' a collection of Dobell's lyrical and descriptive poems, which +possess more general human interest than any other of his books. + +After continuous work was interdicted, he still contributed verse and +prose to the periodicals. His essays have been collected by Professor +Nichol, under the title 'Thoughts on Art, Philosophy, and Religion.' +As a poet Dobell belongs to the so-called "spasmodic school," a school +"characterized by an undercurrent of discontent with the mystery of +existence, by vain effort, unrewarded struggle, skeptical unrest, and +an uneasy striving after some incomprehensible end.... Poetry of this +kind is marked by an excess of metaphor which darkens rather than +illustrates, and by a general extravagance of language. On the other +hand, it manifests freshness and originality, and a rich natural +beauty." Dobell's descriptions of scenery are among the finest in +English literature. His senses were abnormally acute, like those of a +savage, a condition which intensified his appreciation of natural +beauty. Possessing a vivid imagination and wide sympathies, he was +often over-subtle and obscure. He strove to realize in himself his +ideal of a poet, and during his years of ill-health gave himself up to +promoting the welfare of his fellow-men; but of his seventeen years of +inactivity he says:--"The keen perception of all that should be done, +and that so bitterly cries for doing, accompanies the consciousness of +all that I might but cannot do." + + + +EPIGRAM ON THE DEATH OF EDWARD FORBES + + + Nature, a jealous mistress, laid him low. + He wooed and won her; and, by love made bold, + She showed him more than mortal man should know-- + Then slew him lest her secret should be told. + + + +HOW'S MY BOY? + + + "Ho, sailor of the sea! + How's my boy--my boy?"-- + "What's your boy's name, good wife, + And in what good ship sailed he?" + + "My boy John-- + He that went to sea-- + What care I for the ship, sailor? + My boy's my boy to me. + + "You come back from the sea, + And not know my John? + I might as well have asked some landsman, + Yonder down in the town. + There's not an ass in all the parish + But knows my John. + + "How's my boy--my boy? + And unless you let me know, + I'll swear you are no sailor, + Blue jacket or no-- + Brass buttons or no, sailor, + Anchor and crown or no-- + + "Sure, his ship was the Jolly Briton--" + "Speak low, woman, speak low! + + "And why should I speak low, sailor, + About my own boy John? + If I was loud as I am proud + I'd sing him over the town! + Why should I speak low, sailor?"-- + "That good ship went down." + + "How's my boy--my boy? + What care I for the ship, sailor? + I was never aboard her. + Be she afloat or be she aground, + Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound + Her owners can afford her! + I say, how's my John?"-- + "Every man on board went down, + Every man aboard her." + + "How's my boy--my boy? + What care I for the men, sailor? + I'm not their mother. + How's my boy--my boy? + Tell me of him and no other! + How's my boy--my boy?" + + + +THE SAILOR'S RETURN + + + This morn I lay a-dreaming, + This morn, this merry morn; + When the cock crew shrill from over the hill, + I heard a bugle horn. + + And through the dream I was dreaming, + There sighed the sigh of the sea, + And through the dream I was dreaming, + This voice came singing to me:-- + + "High over the breakers, + Low under the lee, + Sing ho! + The billow, + And the lash of the rolling sea! + + "Boat, boat, to the billow, + Boat, boat, to the lee! + Love, on thy pillow, + Art thou dreaming of me? + + "Billow, billow, breaking, + Land us low on the lee! + For sleeping or waking, + Sweet love, I am coming to thee! + + "High, high, o'er the breakers, + Low, low, on the lee, + Sing ho! + The billow + That brings me back to thee!" + + + +AFLOAT AND ASHORE + + + "Tumble and rumble, and grumble and snort, + Like a whale to starboard, a whale to port; + Tumble and rumble, and grumble and snort, + And the steamer steams thro' the sea, love!" + + "I see the ship on the sea, love; + I stand alone + On this rock; + The sea does not shock + The stone; + The waters around it are swirled, + But under my feet + I feel it go down + To where the hemispheres meet + At the adamant heart of the world. + Oh that the rock would move! + Oh that the rock would roll + To meet thee over the sea, love! + Surely my mighty love + Should fill it like a soul, + And it should bear me to thee, love; + Like a ship on the sea, love, + Bear me, bear me, to thee, love!" + + "Guns are thundering, seas are sundering, crowds are wondering, + Low on our lee, love. + Over and over the cannon-clouds cover brother and lover, but over + and over + The whirl-wheels trundle the sea, love; + And on through the loud pealing pomp of her cloud + The great ship is going to thee, love, + Blind to her mark, like a world through the dark, + Thundering, sundering, to the crowds wondering, + Thundering over to thee, love." + + "I have come down to thee coming to me, love; + I stand, I stand + On the solid sand; + I see thee coming to me, love; + The sea runs up to me on the sand: + I start--'tis as if thou hadst stretched thine hand + And touched me through the sea, love. + I feel as if I must die, + For there's something longs to fly, + Fly and fly, to thee, love. + + As the blood of the flower ere she blows + Is beating up to the sun, + And her roots do hold her down, + And it blushes and breaks undone + In a rose, + So my blood is beating in me, love! + I see thee nigh and nigher; + And my soul leaps up like sudden fire, + My life's in the air + To meet thee there, + To meet thee coming to me, love! + Over the sea, + Coming to me, + Coming, and coming to me, love!" + + "The boats are lowered: I leap in first, + Pull, boys, pull! or my heart will burst! + More! more!--lend me an oar!-- + I'm thro' the breakers! I'm on the shore! + I see thee waiting for me, love!" + + "A sudden storm + Of sighs and tears, + A clenching arm, + A look of years. + In my bosom a thousand cries, + A flash like light before my eyes, + And I am lost in thee, love!" + + + +THE SOUL + +From 'Balder' + + + And as the mounting and descending bark, + Borne on exulting by the under deep, + Gains of the wild wave something not the wave, + Catches a joy of going and a will + Resistless, and upon the last lee foam + Leaps into air beyond it,--so the soul + Upon the Alpine ocean mountain-tossed, + Incessant carried up to heaven, and plunged + To darkness, and, still wet with drops of death, + Held into light eternal, and again + Cast down, to be again uplift in vast + And infinite succession, cannot stay + The mad momentum. + + + +ENGLAND + +From 'Balder' + + + This dear English land! + This happy England, loud with brooks and birds, + Shining with harvests, cool with dewy trees, + And bloomed from hill to dell: but whose best flowers + Are daughters, and Ophelia still more fair + Than any rose she weaves; whose noblest floods + The pulsing torrent of a nation's heart; + Whose forests stronger than her native oaks + Are living men; and whose unfathomed lakes, + Forever calm, the unforgotten dead + In quiet grave-yards willowed seemly round, + O'er which To-day bends sad, and sees his face. + Whose rocks are rights, consolidate of old + Through unremembered years, around whose base + The ever-surging peoples roll and roar + Perpetual, as around her cliffs the seas + That only wash them whiter; and whose mountains, + Souls that from this mere footing of the earth + Lift their great virtues through all clouds of Fate + Up to the very heavens, and make them rise + To keep the gods above us! + + + +AMERICA + + + Nor force nor fraud shall sunder us! O ye + Who north or south, or east or western land, + Native to noble sounds, say truth for truth, + Freedom for freedom, love for love, and God + For God; O ye who in eternal youth + Speak with a living and creative flood + This universal English, and do stand + Its breathing book; live worthy of that grand + Heroic utterance--parted, yet a whole, + Far, yet unsevered,--children brave and free + Of the great Mother tongue, and ye shall be + Lords of an empire wide as Shakespeare's soul, + Sublime as Milton's immemorial theme, + And rich as Chaucer's speech, and fair as Spenser's dream. + + + +AMY'S SONG OF THE WILLOW + +From 'Balder' + + + The years they come, and the years they go, + Like winds that blow from sea to sea; + From dark to dark they come and go, + All in the dew-fall and the rain. + Down by the stream there be two sweet willows, + --Hush thee, babe, while the wild winds blow,-- + One hale, one blighted, two wedded willows, + All in the dew-fall and the rain. + + She is blighted, the fair young willow; + --Hush thee, babe, while the wild winds blow,-- + She hears the spring-blood beat in the bark; + She hears the spring-leaf bud on the bough; + But she bends blighted, the wan weeping willow, + All in the dew-fall and the rain. + + The stream runs sparkling under the willow, + --Hush thee, babe, while the wild winds blow,-- + The summer rose-leaves drop in the stream; + The winter oak-leaves drop in the stream; + But she bends blighted, the wan weeping willow, + All in the dew-fall and the rain. + + Sometimes the wind lifts the bright stream to her, + --Hush thee, babe, while the wild winds blow,-- + The false stream sinks, and her tears fall faster; + Because she touched it her tears fall faster; + Over the stream her tears fall faster, + All in the sunshine or the rain. + + The years they come, and the years they go; + Sing well-away, sing well-away! + And under mine eyes shines the bright life-river; + Sing well-away, sing well-away! + Sweet sounds the spring in the hale green willow, + The goodly green willow, the green waving willow, + Sweet in the willow, the wind-whispering willow; + Sing well-away, sing well-away! + But I bend blighted, the wan weeping willow, + All in the sun, and the dew, and the rain. + + + + +AUSTIN DOBSON + +(1840-) + +BY ESTHER SINGLETON + +[Illustration: AUSTIN DOBSON] + + +At first thought it seems difficult to consider Austin Dobson as +belonging to the Victorian period, so entirely is he saturated with +the spirit of the eighteenth century. A careful study of his verse +reveals the fact that the Georgian era, seen through the vista of his +poetic imagination, is divested of all that is coarse, dark, gross, +and prosaic. The mental atmosphere and the types and characters that +he gives, express only beauty and charm. + +One approaches the poems of Austin Dobson as one stands before a rare +collection of enamels, fan-mounts, jeweled snuff-boxes, and delicate +carvings in ivory and silver; and after delighting in the beauty and +finish of these graceful curios, passes into a gallery of paintings +and water-colors, suggesting Watteau, Fragonard, Boucher, Meissonier, +and Greuze. We also wander among trim box-hedges and quaint gardens of +roses and bright hollyhocks; lean by sun-dials to watch the shadow of +Time; and enjoy the sight of gay belles, patched and powdered and +dressed in brocaded gowns and gypsy hats. Gallant beaux, such as are +associated with Reynolds's portraits, appear, and hand them into +sedan-chairs or lead them through stately minuets to the notes of +Rameau, Couperin, and Arne. + +Just as the scent of rose-leaves, lavender, and musk rises from +antique Chinese jars, so Dobson's delicate verse reconstructs a life + + "Of fashion gone, and half-forgotten ways." + +He is equally at home in France. Nothing could be more sympathetic and +exquisite than 'A Revolutionary Relic,' 'The Curé's Progress,' 'Une +Marquise,' and the 'Proverbs in Porcelain,' one of which is cited +below. + +In the 'Vers de Société,' as well as his other poetry, Dobson fulfills +all the requirements of light verse--charm, mockery, pathos, banter, +and, while apparently skimming the surface, often shows us the +strange depths of the human heart. He blends so many qualities that he +deserves the praise of T.B. Aldrich, who says, "Austin Dobson has the +grace of Suckling and the finish of Herrick, and is easily master of +both in metrical art." + +Henry Austin Dobson, the son of Mr. George Clarisse Dobson, a civil +engineer, was born in Plymouth, England, January 18th 1840. His early +years were spent in Anglesea, and after receiving his education in +Beaumaris, Coventry, and Strasburg, he returned to England to become a +civil engineer. In 1856 he entered the civil service of Great Britain, +and ever since that date he has held offices in the Board of Trade. +His leisure was devoted to literature, and when Anthony Trollope first +issued his magazine St. Paul's in 1868, he introduced to the public +the verse of Austin Dobson. In 1873 his fugitive poems were published +in a small volume entitled 'Vignettes in Rhyme' and 'Vers de Société.' +This was followed in 1877 by 'Proverbs in Porcelain,' and both books, +with additional poems, were printed again in two volumes: 'Old World +Idylls' (1883), and 'At the Sign of the Lyre' (1885). Mr. Dobson's +original essays are contained in three volumes: 'Four Frenchwomen,' +studies of Charlotte Corday, Madame Roland, the Princess de Lamballe, +and Madame de Genlis (1890), and 'Eighteenth-Century Vignettes' (first +series 1892, second series 1894), which touch upon a host of +picturesque and fascinating themes. He has written also several +biographies: of Hogarth, of Fielding, of Steele (1886), of Goldsmith +(1888), and a 'Memoir of Horace Walpole' (1890). He has also written +felicitous critical introductions to many new editions of the +eighteenth-century classics. + +Austin Dobson has been most happy in breathing English life into the +old poems of French verse, such as ballades, villanelles, roundels, +and rondeaux; and he has also written clever and satirical fables, +cast in the form and temper of Gay and Prior, with quaint obsolete +affectations, redolent of the classic age of Anne. + +So serious is his attitude towards art, and so large his audience, +that the hope expressed in the following rondeau will certainly be +realized:-- + + In after days, when grasses high + O'er-top the stone where I shall lie, + Though ill or well the world adjust + My slender claim to honored dust, + I shall not question nor reply. + + I shall not see the morning sky, + I shall not hear the night-wind sigh; + I shall be mute, as all men must, + In after days. + + But yet, now living, fain were I + That some one then should testify, + Saying--_He held his pen in trust_ + _To Art, not serving shame or lust._ + Will none?--Then let my memory die + In after days! + +[Illustration: Signature (Esther Singleton)] + + + +ON A NANKIN PLATE + +VILLANELLE + + + "Ah me, but it might have been! + Was there ever so dismal a fate?" + Quoth the little blue mandarin. + + "Such a maid as was never seen: + She passed, tho' I cried to her, 'Wait,'-- + Ah me, but it might have been! + + "I cried, 'O my Flower, my Queen, + Be mine!'--'Twas precipitate," + Quoth the little blue mandarin. + + "But then ... she was just sixteen,-- + Long-eyed, as a lily straight,-- + Ah me, but it might have been! + + "As it was, from her palankeen + She laughed--'You're a week too late!'" + (Quoth the little blue mandarin.) + + "That is why, in a mist of spleen + I mourn on this Nankin Plate. + Ah me, but it might have been!" + Quoth the little blue mandarin. + + + +THE OLD SEDAN-CHAIR + + "What's not destroyed by Time's devouring Hand? + Where's Troy,--and where's the May-Pole in the Strand?" + --BRAMSTON'S 'ART OF POLITICKS.' + + + It stands in the stable-yard, under the eaves, + Propped up by a broomstick and covered with leaves; + It once was the pride of the gay and the fair, + But now 'tis a ruin,--that old Sedan-chair! + + It is battered and tattered,--it little avails + That once it was lacquered, and glistened with nails; + For its leather is cracked into lozenge and square + Like a canvas by Wilkie,--that old Sedan-chair. + + See, here come the bearing-straps; here were the holes + For the poles of the bearers--when once there were poles; + It was cushioned with silk, it was wadded with hair, + As the birds have discovered,--that old Sedan-chair. + + "Where's Troy?" says the poet! Look; under the seat + Is a nest with four eggs; 'tis a favored retreat + Of the Muscovy hen, who has hatched, I dare swear, + Quite an army of chicks in that old Sedan-chair. + + And yet--Can't you fancy a face in the frame + Of the window,--some high-headed damsel or dame, + Be-patched and be-powdered, just set by the stair, + While they raise up the lid of that old Sedan-chair? + + Can't you fancy Sir Plume, as beside her he stands, + With his ruffles a-droop on his delicate hands, + With his cinnamon coat, with his laced solitaire, + As he lifts her out light from that old Sedan-chair? + + Then it swings away slowly. Ah, many a league + It has trotted 'twixt sturdy-legged Terence and Teague; + Stout fellows!--but prone, on a question of fare, + To brandish the poles of that old Sedan-chair! + + It has waited by portals where Garrick has played; + It has waited by Heidegger's "Grand Masquerade"; + For my Lady Codille, for my Lady Bellair, + It has waited--and waited, that old Sedan-chair! + + Oh, the scandals it knows! Oh, the tales it could tell + Of Drum and Ridotto, of Rake and of Belle,-- + Of Cock-fight and Levee, and (scarcely more rare!) + Of Fête-days at Tyburn, that old Sedan-chair! + + "_Heu! quantum mutata_," I say as I go. + It deserves better fate than a stable-yard, though! + We must furbish it up, and dispatch it,--"With Care,"-- + To a Fine-Art Museum--that old Sedan-chair. + + + +THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME + + + When the ways are heavy with mire and rut, + In November fogs, in December snows, + When the North Wind howls, and the doors are shut,-- + There is place and enough for the pains of prose; + But whenever a scent from the whitethorn blows, + And the jasmine-stars at the casement climb, + And a Rosalind-face at the lattice shows, + Then hey! for the ripple of laughing rhyme! + + When the brain gets dry as an empty nut, + When the reason stands on its squarest toes, + When the mind (like a beard) has a "formal cut,"-- + There is place and enough for the pains of prose; + But whenever the May-blood stirs and glows, + And the young year draws to the "golden prime," + And Sir Romeo sticks in his ear a rose,-- + Then hey! for the ripple of laughing rhyme! + + In a theme where the thoughts have a pedant-strut, + In a changing quarrel of "Ayes" and "Noes," + In a starched procession of "If" and "But,"-- + There is place and enough for the pains of prose; + But whenever a soft glance softer grows + And the light hours dance to the trysting-time, + And the secret is told "that no one knows,"-- + Then hey! for the ripple of laughing rhyme! + +ENVOY + + In the work-a-day world,--for its needs and woes, + There is place and enough for the pains of prose; + But whenever the May-bells clash and chime, + Then hey! for the ripple of laughing rhyme! + + + +THE CURÉ'S PROGRESS + + + Monsieur The Curé down the street + Comes with his kind old face,-- + With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair, + And his green umbrella-case. + + You may see him pass by the little "_Grande Place_," + And the tiny "_Hôtel-de-Ville_"; + He smiles as he goes, to the _fleuriste_ Rose, + And the _pompier_ Théophile. + + He turns as a rule through the "_Marché_" cool, + Where the noisy fishwives call; + And his compliment pays to the "_belle Thérèse_," + As she knits in her dusky stall. + + There's a letter to drop at the locksmith's shop, + And Toto, the locksmith's niece, + Has jubilant hopes, for the Curé gropes + In his tails for a _pain d'épice_. + + There's a little dispute with a merchant of fruit + Who is said to be heterodox, + That will ended be with a "_Ma foi, oui!_" + And a pinch from the Curé's box. + + There is also a word that no one heard + To the furrier's daughter Lou; + And a pale cheek fed with a flickering red, + And a "_Bon Dieu garde M'sieu!_" + + But a grander way for the _Sous-Préfet_, + And a bow for Ma'am'selle Anne; + And a mock "off-hat" to the Notary's cat, + And a nod to the Sacristan:-- + + For ever through life the Curé goes + With a smile on his kind old face-- + With his coat worn bare, and his straggling hair. + And his green umbrella-case. + + + +"GOOD-NIGHT, BABETTE" + +"Si vieillesse pouvait!" + + + SCENE.--_A small neat room. In a high Voltaire chair sits a + white-haired old gentleman._ + +M. VIEUXBOIS [_turning querulously_] + + Day of my life! Where _can_ she get? + BABETTE! I Say! BABETTE!--BABETTE! + +BABETTE [_entering hurriedly_] + + Coming, M'sieu'! If M'sieu' speaks + So loud, he won't be well for weeks! + +M. VIEUXBOIS + + Where have you been? + +BABETTE + + Why, M'sieu' knows:-- + April!... Ville-d' Avray!... Ma'm'selle ROSE! + +M. VIEUXBOIS + + Ah! I am old,--and I forget. + Was the place growing green, BABETTE? + +BABETTE + + But of a greenness!--Yes, M'sieu'! + And then the sky so blue!--so blue! + And when I dropped my _immortelle_, + How the birds sang! + [_Lifting her apron to her eyes._] + This poor Ma'm'selle! + +M. VIEUXBOIS + + You're a good girl, BABETTE, but she,-- + She was an angel, verily. + Sometimes I think I see her yet + Stand smiling by the cabinet; + And once, I know, she peeped and laughed + Betwixt the curtains.... + Where's the draught? + [_She gives him a cup._] + Now I shall sleep, I think, BABETTE;-- + Sing me your Norman _chansonnette_. + +BABETTE [_sings_] + + "_Once at the Angelus + (Ere I was dead), + Angels all glorious + Came to my bed;-- + Angels in blue and white, + Crowned on the head._" + +M. VIEUXBOIS [_drowsily_] + + "She was an Angel" ... "Once she laughed" ... + What! was I dreaming? + Where's the draught? + +BABETTE [_showing the empty cup_] + + The draught, M'sieu'? + +M. VIEUXBOIS + + How I forget! + I am so old! But sing, BABETTE! + +BABETTE [_sings_] + + "_One was the Friend I left + Stark in the Snow; + One was the Wife that died + Long,--long ago; + One was the Love I lost-- + How could she know?_" + +M. VIEUXBOIS [_murmuring_] + + Ah PAUL! ... old PAUL! ... EULALIE, too! + And ROSE ... And O! "the sky so blue!" + +BABETTE [_sings_] + + "_One had my Mother's eyes, + Wistful and mild; + One had my Father's face; + One was a Child: + All of them bent to me,-- + Bent down and smiled!_" + [He is asleep!] + +M. VIEUXBOIS [_almost inaudibly_] + + How I forget! + I am so old! ... Good-night, BABETTE! + + + +THE LADIES OF ST. JAMES'S + +A PROPER NEW BALLAD OF THE COUNTRY AND THE TOWN + + "Phyllida amo ante alias."--VIRGIL. + + + The ladies of St. James's + Go swinging to the play; + Their footmen run before them + With a "Stand by! Clear the way!" + But Phyllida, my Phyllida! + She takes her buckled shoon, + When we go out a-courting + Beneath the harvest moon. + + The ladies of St. James's + Wear satin on their backs; + They sit all night at _Ombre_, + With candles all of wax: + But Phyllida, my Phyllida! + She dons her russet gown, + And runs to gather May-dew + Before the world is down. + + The ladies of St. James's! + They are so fine and fair, + You'd think a box of essences + Was broken in the air: + But Phyllida, my Phyllida! + The breath of heath and furze, + When breezes blow at morning, + Is not so fresh as hers. + + The ladies of St. James's! + They're painted to the eyes; + Their white it stays forever, + Their red it never dies: + But Phyllida, my Phyllida! + Her color comes and goes; + It trembles to a lily,-- + It wavers like a rose, + + The ladies of St. James's! + You scarce can understand + The half of all their speeches, + Their phrases are so grand: + But Phyllida, my Phyllida! + Her shy and simple words + Are clear as after rain-drops + The music of the birds. + + The ladies of St. James's! + They have their fits and freaks; + They smile on you--for seconds; + They frown on you--for weeks: + But Phyllida, my Phyllida! + Come either storm or shine, + From Shrove-tide unto Shrove-tide, + Is always true--and mine. + + My Phyllida! my Phyllida! + I care not though they heap + The hearts of all St. James's, + And give me all to keep; + I care not whose the beauties + Of all the world may be,-- + For Phyllida, my Phyllida, + Is all the world to me. + + + +DORA _VERSUS_ ROSE + +"The Case is Proceeding" + + + From the tragic-est novels at Mudie's-- + At least on a practical plan-- + To the tales of mere Hodges and Judys, + One love is enough for a man. + But no case that I ever yet met is + Like mine: I am equally fond + Of Rose, who a charming brunette is, + And Dora, a blonde. + + Each rivals the other in powers-- + Each waltzes, each warbles, each paints-- + Miss Rose, chiefly tumble-down towers; + Miss Do., perpendicular saints. + In short, to distinguish is folly; + 'Twixt the pair I am come to the pass + Of Macheath, between Lucy and Polly,-- + Or Buridan's ass. + + If it happens that Rosa I've singled + For a soft celebration in rhyme, + Then the ringlets of Dora get mingled + Somehow with the tune and the time; + Or I painfully pen me a sonnet + To an eyebrow intended for Do.'s, + And behold I am writing upon it + The legend, "To Rose." + + Or I try to draw Dora (my blotter + Is all over scrawled with her head), + If I fancy at last that I've got her, + It turns to her rival instead; + Or I find myself placidly adding + To the rapturous tresses of Rose + Miss Dora's bud-mouth, and her madding, + Ineffable nose. + + Was there ever so sad a dilemma? + For Rose I would perish (_pro tem._); + For Dora I'd willingly stem a-- + (Whatever might offer to stem); + But to make the invidious election,-- + To declare that on either one's side + I've a scruple,--a grain,--more affection, + I _cannot_ decide. + + And as either so hopelessly nice is, + My sole and my final resource + Is to wait some indefinite crisis,-- + Some feat of molecular force, + To solve me this riddle conducive + By no means to peace or repose, + Since the issue can scarce be inclusive + Of Dora _and_ Rose. + +(AFTER-THOUGHT) + + But perhaps if a third (say, a Norah), + Not quite so delightful as Rose, + Nor wholly so charming as Dora, + Should appear, is it wrong to suppose,-- + As the claims of the others are equal,-- + And flight--in the main--is the best,-- + That I might ... But no matter,--the sequel + Is easily guessed. + + + +UNE MARQUISE + +A RHYMED MONOLOGUE IN THE LOUVRE + + "Belle Marquise, vos beaux yeux me font mourir d'amour." + --MOLIÈRE. + + +I + + As you sit there at your ease, + O Marquise! + And the men flock round your knees + Thick as bees, + Mute at every word you utter, + Servants to your least frill-flutter, + "_Belle Marquise!_" + As you sit there, growing prouder, + And your ringed hands glance and go, + And your fan's _frou-frou_ sounds louder, + And your "_beaux yeux_" flash and glow;-- + Ah, you used them on the Painter, + As you know, + For the Sieur Larose spoke fainter, + Bowing low, + Thanked Madame and Heaven for Mercy + That each sitter was not Circe,-- + Or at least he told you so; + Growing proud, I say, and prouder + To the crowd that come and go, + Dainty Deity of Powder, + Fickle Queen of Fop and Beau, + As you sit where lustres strike you, + Sure to please, + Do we love you most, or like you, + "_Belle Marquise!_" + + +II + + You are fair; oh yes, we know it + Well, Marquise; + For he swore it, your last poet, + On his knees; + And he called all heaven to witness + Of his ballad and its fitness, + "_Belle Marquise!_" + You were everything in _ère_ + (With exception of _sévère_),-- + You were _cruelle_ and _rebelle_, + With the rest of rhymes as well; + You were "_Reine_" and "_Mère d' Amour_"; + You were "_Vénus à Cythère_"; + "_Sappho mise en Pompadour_," + And "_Minerve en Paravère_"; + You had every grace of heaven + In your most angelic face, + With the nameless finer leaven + Lent of blood and courtly race; + And he added, too, in duty, + Ninon's wit and Boufflers's beauty; + And La Valliere's _yeux veloutés_ + Followed these; + And you liked it, when he said it + (On his knees), + And you kept it, and you read it, + "_Belle Marquise!_" + + +III + + Yet with us your toilet graces + Fail to please, + And the last of your last faces, + And your _mise_; + For we hold you just as real, + "_Belle Marquise!_" + As your _Bergers_ and _Bergères_, + _Tes d' Amour_ and _Batelières_; + As your _pares_, and your Versailles, + Gardens, grottoes, and _socailles_; + As your Naiads and your trees;-- + Just as near the old ideal + Calm and ease, + As the Venus there by Coustou, + That a fan would make quite flighty, + Is to her the gods were used to,-- + Is to grand Greek Aphroditè, + Sprung from seas. + You are just a porcelain trifle, + "_Belle Marquise!_" + Just a thing of puffs and patches + Made for madrigals and catches, + Not for heart wounds, but for scratches, + O Marquise! + Just a pinky porcelain trifle, + "_Belle Marquise!_" + Wrought in rarest _rose-Dubarry,_ + Quick at verbal point and parry, + Clever, doubtless;--but to marry, + No, Marquise! + + +IV + + For your Cupid, you have clipped him, + Rouged and patched him, nipped and snipped him, + And with _chapeau-bras_ equipped him, + "_Belle Marquise!_" + Just to arm you through your wife-time, + And the languors of your lifetime, + "_Belle Marquise!_" + Say, to trim your toilet tapers + Or--to twist your hair in papers, + Or--to wean you from the vapors;-- + As for these, + You are worth the love they give you, + Till a fairer face outlive you, + Or a younger grace shall please; + Till the coming of the crows'-feet, + And the backward turn of beaux' feet, + "_Belle Marquise!_" + Till your frothed-out life's commotion + Settles down to Ennui's ocean, + Or a dainty sham devotion, + "_Belle Marquise!_" + + +V + + No: we neither like nor love you, + "_Belle Marquise!_" + Lesser lights we place above you,-- + Milder merits better please. + We have passed from _Philosophe_-dom + Into plainer modern days,-- + Grown contented in our oafdom, + Giving grace not all the praise; + And, _en partant, Arsinoé_,-- + Without malice whatsoever,-- + We shall counsel to our Chloë + To be rather good than clever; + For we find it hard to smother + Just one little thought, Marquise! + Wittier perhaps than any other,-- + You were neither Wife nor Mother. + "_Belle Marquise!_" + + + +A BALLAD TO QUEEN ELIZABETH + +OF THE SPANISH ARMADA + + + King Philip had vaunted his claims; + He had sworn for a year he would sack us; + With an army of heathenish names + He was coming to fagot and stack us; + Like the thieves of the sea he would track us, + And shatter our ships on the main; + But we had bold Neptune to back us,-- + And where are the galleons of Spain? + + His carackes were christened of dames + To the kirtles whereof he would tack us; + With his saints and his gilded stern-frames, + He had thought like an egg-shell to crack us; + Now Howard may get to his Flaccus, + And Drake to his Devon again, + And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus,-- + For where are the galleons of Spain? + + Let his Majesty hang to St. James + The axe that he whetted to hack us: + He must play at some lustier games. + Or at sea he can hope to out-thwack us; + To his mines of Peru he would pack us + To tug at his bullet and chain; + Alas! that his Greatness should lack us!-- + But where are the galleons of Spain? + +ENVOY + + GLORIANA!--the Don may attack us + Whenever his stomach be fain; + He must reach us before he can rack us,... + And where are the galleons of Spain? + + + +THE PRINCESS DE LAMBALLE + +From 'Four Frenchwomen' + + +A tender wife, a loving daughter, and a loyal friend,--shall we not +here lay down upon the grave of Marie de Lamballe our reverential +tribute, our little chaplet of _immortelles_, in the name of all good +women, wives, and daughters? + +"_Elle était mieux femme que les autres._"[A] To us that apparently +indefinite, exquisitely definite sentence most fitly marks the +distinction between the subjects of the two preceding papers and the +subject of the present. It is a transition from the stately figure of +a marble Agrippina to the breathing, feeling woman at your side; it is +the transition from the statuesque Rachelesque heroines of a David to +the "small sweet idyl" of a Greuze. And, we confess it, we were not +wholly at ease with those tragic, majestic figures. We shuddered at +the dagger and the bowl which suited them so well. We marveled at +their bloodless serenity, their superhuman self-sufficiency; inly we +questioned if they breathed and felt. Or was their circulation a +matter of machinery--a mere dead-beat escapement? We longed for the +_sexe prononcé_ of Rivarol--we longed for the showman's "female +woman!" We respected and we studied, but we did not love them. With +Madame de Lamballe the case is otherwise. Not grand like this one, not +heroic like that one, "_elle est mieux femme que les autres_." + +She at least is woman--after a fairer fashion--after a truer type. Not +intellectually strong like Manon Philipon, not Spartan-souled like +Marie de Corday, she has still a rare intelligence, a courage of +affection. She has that _clairvoyance_ of the heart which supersedes +all the stimulants of mottoes from Reynel or maxims from Rousseau; she +has that "angel instinct" which is a juster lawgiver than Justinian. +It was thought praise to say of the Girondist lady that she was a +greater man than her husband; it is praise to say of this queen's +friend that she was more woman than Madame Roland. Not so grand, not +so great, we like the princess best. _Elle est mieux femme que les +autres._ + + [A] She was more woman than the others. + + + + +MARY MAPES DODGE + +(1840?-) + +[Illustration: MARY MAPES DODGE] + + +To write a story which in thirty years should pass through more than a +hundred editions, which should attain the apotheosis of an _edition de +luxe_, which should be translated into at least four foreign +languages, be allotted the Montyon prize of 1500 francs for moral as +well as literary excellence, and be crowned by the French +Academy--this is a piece of good fortune which falls to the lot of few +story-tellers. The book which has deserved so well is 'Hans Brinker, +or The Silver Skates,' a story of life in Holland. Its author, born in +New York, is a daughter of Professor James Jay Mapes, an eminent +chemist and inventor, an accomplished writer and brilliant talker. + +In a household where music, art, and literature were cultivated, and +where the most agreeable society came, talents were not likely to be +overlooked. Mrs. Dodge, very early widowed, began writing before she +was twenty, publishing short stories, sketches, and poems in various +periodicals. 'Hans Brinker' appeared in 1864,--her delight in Motley's +histories and their appeal to her own Dutch blood inspiring her to +write it. Of this book Mr. Frank R. Stockton says:-- + + "There are strong reasons why the fairest orange groves, the + loftiest mountain peaks, or the inspiriting waves of the + rolling sea, could not tempt average boys and girls from the + level stretches of the Dutch canals, until they had skated + through the sparkling story, warmed with a healthy glow. + + "This is not only a tale of vivid description, interesting + and instructive; it is a romance. There are adventures, + startling and surprising, there are mysteries of buried gold, + there are the machinations of the wicked, there is the + heroism of the good, and the gay humor of happy souls. More + than these, there is love--that sentiment which glides into + a good story as naturally as into a human life; and whether + the story be for old or young, this element gives it an + ever-welcome charm. Strange fortune and good fortune come to + Hans and to Gretel, and to many other deserving characters in + the tale, but there is nothing selfish about these heroes and + heroines. As soon as a new generation of young people grows + up to be old enough to enjoy this perennial story, all these + characters return to the days of their youth, and are ready + to act their parts again to the very end, and to feel in + their own souls, as everybody else feels, that their story is + just as new and interesting as when it was first told." + +Besides this book, Mrs. Dodge has published several volumes of +juvenile verse, such as 'Rhymes and Jingles,' and 'When Life was +Young'; a volume of serious verse, 'Along the Way'; a volume of +satirical and humorous sketches, 'Theophilus and Others'; a second +successful story for young people, 'Donald and Dorothy,' and a +number of other works. Her stories evince an unusual faculty of +construction and marked inventiveness,--inherited perhaps from her +father,--truthful characterization, literary feeling, a strong sense +of humor, and a high ethical standard. Her whimsical character sketch, +'Miss Maloney on the Chinese Question,' which has been reprinted +thousands of times and repeated by every elocutionist in the land, is +in its way as searching a satire as Bret Harte's 'Heathen Chinee.' + +Since its beginning in 1873, Mrs. Dodge has edited the St. Nicholas +Magazine, whose pages bear witness to her enormous industry. + + + +THE RACE + +From 'Hans Brinker, or The Silver Skates,' Copyright 1896, by Charles +Scribner's Sons + + +The 20th of December came at last, bringing with it the perfection of +winter weather. All over the level landscape lay the warm sunlight. It +tried its power on lake, canal, and river; but the ice flashed +defiance, and showed no sign of melting. The very weathercocks stood +still to enjoy the sight. This gave the windmills a holiday. Nearly +all the past week they had been whirling briskly; now, being rather +out of breath, they rocked lazily in the clear still air. Catch a +windmill working when the weathercocks have nothing to do! + +There was an end to grinding, crushing, and sawing for that day. It +was a good thing for the millers near Broek. Long before noon, they +concluded to take in their sails and go to the race. Everybody would +be there. Already the north side of the frozen Y was bordered with +eager spectators; the news of the great skating-match had traveled far +and wide. Men, women, and children, in holiday attire, were flocking +toward the spot. Some wore furs and wintry cloaks or shawls; but +many, consulting their feelings rather than the almanac, were dressed +as for an October day. + + [Illustration: _THE SKATER OF THE ZUYDER ZEE._ + Photogravure from a Painting by G. H. Boughton, A. R. A.] + +The site selected for the race was a faultless plain of ice near +Amsterdam, on that great _arm_ of the Zuyder Zee, which Dutchmen of +course must call the Eye. The townspeople turned out in large numbers. +Strangers in the city deemed it a fine chance to see what was to be +seen. Many a peasant from the northward had wisely chosen the 20th as +the day for the next city-trading. It seemed that everybody, young and +old, who had wheels, skates, or feet at command, had hastened to the +scene. + +There were the gentry in their coaches, dressed like Parisians fresh +from the Boulevards; Amsterdam children in charity uniforms; girls +from the Roman Catholic Orphan House, in sable gowns and white +head-bands; boys from the Burgher Asylum, with their black tights and +short-skirted harlequin coats. There were old-fashioned gentlemen in +cocked hats and velvet knee-breeches; old-fashioned ladies too, in +stiff quilted skirts and bodices of dazzling brocade. These were +accompanied by servants bearing foot-stoves and cloaks. There were the +peasant folk, arrayed in every possible Dutch costume,--shy young +rustics in brazen buckles; simple village maidens concealing their +flaxen hair under fillets of gold; women whose long narrow aprons were +stiff with embroidery; women with short corkscrew curls hanging over +their foreheads; women with shaved heads and close-fitting caps, and +women in striped skirts and windmill bonnets; men in leather, in +homespun, in velvet and broadcloth; burghers in modern European +attire, and burghers in short jackets, wide trousers, and +steeple-crowned hats. + +There were beautiful Friesland girls in wooden shoes and coarse +petticoats, with solid gold crescents encircling their heads, finished +at each temple with a golden rosette, and hung with lace a century +old. Some wore necklaces, pendants, and earrings of the purest gold. +Many were content with gilt, or even with brass; but it is not an +uncommon thing for a Friesland woman to have all the family treasure +in her headgear. More than one rustic lass displayed the value of two +thousand guilders upon her head that day. + +Scattered throughout the crowd were peasants from the Island of +Marken, with sabots, black stockings, and the widest of breeches; also +women from Marken, with short blue petticoats, and black jackets gayly +figured in front. They wore red sleeves, white aprons, and a cap like +a bishop's mitre over their golden hair. + +The children often were as quaint and odd-looking as their elders. In +short, one-third of the crowd seemed to have stepped bodily from a +collection of Dutch paintings. + +Everywhere could be seen tall women and stumpy men, lively-faced +girls, and youths whose expressions never changed from sunrise to +sunset. + +There seemed to be at least one specimen from every known town in +Holland. There were Utrecht water-bearers, Gouda cheese-makers, Delft +pottery-men, Schiedam distillers, Amsterdam diamond-cutters, Rotterdam +merchants, dried-up herring-packers, and two sleepy-eyed shepherds +from Texel. Every man of them had his pipe and tobacco pouch. Some +carried what might be called the smoker's complete outfit,--a pipe, +tobacco, a pricker with which to clean the tube, a silver net for +protecting the bowl, and a box of the strongest of brimstone matches. + +A true Dutchman, you must remember, is rarely without his pipe on any +possible occasion. He may for a moment neglect to breathe; but when +the pipe is forgotten, he must be dying indeed. There were no such sad +cases here. Wreaths of smoke were rising from every possible quarter. +The more fantastic the smoke-wreath, the more placid and solemn the +smoker. + +Look at those boys and girls on stilts! That is a good idea. They can +look over the heads of the tallest. It is strange to see those little +bodies high in the air, carried about on mysterious legs. They have +such a resolute look on their round faces, what wonder that nervous +old gentlemen with tender feet wince and tremble while the long-legged +little monsters stride past them! + +You will read in certain books that the Dutch are a quiet people. So +they are, generally. But listen! did you ever hear such a din? All +made up of human voices--no, the horses are helping somewhat, and the +fiddles are squeaking pitifully; (how it must pain fiddles to be +tuned!) but the mass of the sound comes from the great _vox humana_ +that belongs to a crowd. + +That queer little dwarf, going about with a heavy basket, winding in +and out among the people, helps not a little. You can hear his shrill +cry above all other sounds, "Pypen en tabac! Pypen en tabac!" + +Another, his big brother, though evidently some years younger, is +selling doughnuts and bonbons. He is calling on all pretty children, +far and near, to come quickly or the cakes will be gone. + +You know quite a number among the spectators. High up in yonder +pavilion, erected upon the border of the ice, are some persons whom +you have seen very lately. In the centre is Madame Van Gleck. It is +her birthday, you remember; she has the post of honor. There is +Mynheer Van Gleck, whose meerschaum has not really grown fast to his +lips; it only appears so. There are Grandfather and Grandmother, whom +you met at the St. Nicholas fête. All the children are with them. It +is so mild, they have brought even the baby. The poor little creature +is swaddled very much after the manner of an Egyptian mummy; but it +can crow with delight, and when the band is playing, open and shut its +animated mittens in perfect time to the music. + +Grandfather, with his pipe and spectacles and fur cap, makes quite a +picture as he holds Baby upon his knee. Perched high upon their +canopied platforms, the party can see all that is going on. No wonder +the ladies look complacently at the glassy ice; with a stove for a +footstool, one might sit cosily beside the North Pole. + +There is a gentleman with them, who somewhat resembles St. Nicholas as +he appeared to the young Van Glecks on the fifth of December. But the +Saint had a flowing white beard, and this face is as smooth as a +pippin. His Saintship was larger round the body too, and (between +ourselves) he had a pair of thimbles in his mouth, which this +gentleman certainly has not. It cannot be St. Nicholas, after all. + +Near by in the next pavilion sit the Van Holps, with their son and +daughter (the Van Gends) from The Hague. Peter's sister is not one to +forget her promises. She has brought bouquets of exquisite hot-house +flowers for the winners. + +These pavilions,--and there are others beside,--have all been erected +since daylight. That semicircular one, containing Mynheer Korbes's +family, is very pretty, and proves that the Hollanders are quite +skilled at tentmaking; but I like the Van Glecks' best,--the centre +one, striped red and white, and hung with evergreens. + +The one with the blue flags contains the musicians. Those pagoda-like +affairs, decked with sea-shells and streamers of every possible hue, +are the judges' stands; and those columns and flagstaffs upon the ice +mark the limit of the race-course. The two white columns twined with +green, connected at the top by that long floating strip of drapery, +form the starting point. Those flagstaffs, half a mile off, stand at +each end of the boundary line, cut sufficiently deep to be distinct to +the skaters, though not deep enough to trip them when they turn to +come back to the starting-point. + +The air is so clear, it seems scarcely possible that the columns and +flagstaffs are so far apart. Of course the judges' stands are but +little nearer together. Half a mile on the ice, when the atmosphere is +like this, is but a short distance after all, especially when fenced +with a living chain of spectators. + +The music has commenced. How melody seems to enjoy itself in the open +air! The fiddles have forgotten their agony, and everything is +harmonious. Until you look at the blue tent, it seems that the music +springs from the sunshine, it is so boundless, so joyous. Only the +musicians are solemn. + +Where are the racers? All assembled together near the white columns. +It is a beautiful sight,--forty boys and girls in picturesque attire, +darting with electric swiftness in and out among each other, or +sailing in pairs and triplets, beckoning, chatting, whispering, in the +fullness of youthful glee. + +A few careful ones are soberly tightening their straps; others, +halting on one leg, with flushed eager faces, suddenly cross the +suspected skate over their knee, give it an examining shake, and dart +off again. One and all are possessed with the spirit of motion. They +cannot stand still. Their skates are a part of them, and every runner +seems bewitched. + +Holland is the place for skaters, after all. Where else can nearly +every boy and girl perform feats on the ice that would attract a crowd +if seen on Central Park? Look at Ben! I did not see him before. He is +really astonishing the natives; no easy thing to do in the +Netherlands. Save your strength, Ben; you will need it soon. Now other +boys are trying! Ben is surpassed already. Such jumping, such poising, +such spinning, such india-rubber exploits generally! That boy with a +red cap is the lion now; his back is a watch-spring, his body is +cork--no, it is iron, or it would snap at that. He is a bird, a top, a +rabbit, a corkscrew, a sprite, a flesh-ball, all in an instant. When +you think he is erect, he is down; and when you think he is down, he +is up. He drops his glove on the ice, and turns a somerset as he picks +it up. Without stopping, he snatches the cap from Jacob Poot's +astonished head, and claps it back again "hind side before." +Lookers-on hurrah and laugh. Foolish boy! It is arctic weather under +your feet, but more than temperate overhead. Big drops already are +rolling down your forehead. Superb skater as you are, you may lose the +race. + +A French traveler, standing with a notebook in his hand, sees our +English friend Ben buy a doughnut of the dwarf's brother, and eat it. +Thereupon he writes in his note-book that the Dutch take enormous +mouthfuls, and universally are fond of potatoes boiled in molasses. + +There are some familiar faces near the white columns. Lambert, Ludwig, +Peter, and Carl are all there, cool, and in good skating order. Hans +is not far off. Evidently he is going to join in the race, for his +skates are on,--the very pair that he sold for seven guilders. He had +soon suspected that his fairy godmother was the mysterious "friend" +who bought them. This settled, he had boldly charged her with the +deed; and she, knowing well that all her little savings had been spent +in the purchase, had not had the face to deny it. Through the fairy +god-mother, too, he had been rendered amply able to buy them back +again. Therefore Hans is to be in the race. Carl is more indignant +than ever about it; but as three other peasant boys have entered, Hans +is not alone. + +Twenty boys and twenty girls. The latter by this time are standing in +front, braced for the start; for they are to have the first "run." +Hilda, Rychie, and Katrinka are among them. Two or three bend hastily +to give a last pull at their skate-straps. It is pretty to see them +stamp, to be sure that all is firm. Hilda is speaking pleasantly to a +graceful little creature in a red jacket and a new brown petticoat. +Why, it is Gretel! What a difference those pretty shoes make; and the +skirt and the new cap! Annie Bouman is there too. Even Janzoon Kolp's +sister has been admitted; but Janzoon himself has been voted out by +the directors because he killed the stork, and only last summer was +caught in the act of robbing a bird's nest,--a legal offense in +Holland. + +This Janzoon Kolp, you see, was--There, I cannot tell the story just +now. The race is about to commence. + +Twenty girls are formed in a line. The music has ceased. + +A man whom we shall call the crier stands between the columns and the +first judges' stand. He reads the rules in a loud voice:-- + + "_The girls and boys are to race in turn, until one girl and + one boy have beaten twice. They are to start in a line from + the united columns, skate to the flagstaff line, turn, and + then come back to the starting-point; thus making a mile at + each run._" + +A flag is waved from the judges' stand. Madame Van Gleck rises in her +pavilion. She leans forward with a white handkerchief in her hand. +When she drops it, a bugler is to give the signal for them to start. + +The handkerchief is fluttering to the ground. Hark! + +They are off! + +No. Back again. Their line was not true in passing the judges' stand. + +The signal is repeated. + +Off again. No mistake this time. Whew! how fast they go! + +The multitude is quiet for an instant, absorbed in eager, breathless +watching. + +Cheers spring up along the line of spectators. Huzza! five girls are +ahead. Who comes flying back from the boundary mark? We cannot tell. +Something red, that is all. There is a blue spot flitting near it, and +a dash of yellow nearer still. Spectators at this end of the line +strain their eyes, and wish they had taken their post nearer the +flagstaff. + +The wave of cheers is coming back again. Now we can see. Katrinka is +ahead! + +She passes the Van Holp pavilion. The next is Madame Van Gleck's. That +leaning figure gazing from it is a magnet. Hilda shoots past Katrinka, +waving her hand to her mother as she passes. Two others are close now, +whizzing on like arrows. What is that flash of red and gray? Hurrah, +it is Gretel! She too waves her hand, but toward no gay pavilion. The +crowd is cheering; but she hears only her father's voice, "Well done, +little Gretel!" Soon Katrinka, with a quick merry laugh, shoots past +Hilda. The girl in yellow is gaining now. She passes them all,--all +except Gretel. The judges lean forward without seeming to lift their +eyes from their watches. Cheer after cheer fills the air; the very +columns seem rocking. Gretel has passed them. She has won. + +"GRETEL BRINKER, ONE MILE!" shouts the crier. + +The judges nod. They write something upon a tablet which each holds in +his hand. + +While the girls are resting,--some crowding eagerly around our +frightened little Gretel, some standing aside in high disdain,--the +boys form in a line. + +Mynheer Van Gleck drops the handkerchief this time. The buglers give a +vigorous blast. Off start the boys! + +Half-way already. Did ever you see the like! + +Three hundred legs flashing by in an instant. But there are only +twenty boys. No matter; there were hundreds of legs, I am sure. Where +are they now? There is such a noise one gets bewildered. What are the +people laughing at? Oh! at that fat boy in the rear. See him go! See +him! He'll be down in an instant; no, he won't. I wonder if he knows +he is all alone: the other boys are nearly at the boundary line. Yes, +he knows it. He stops. He wipes his hot face. He takes off his cap, +and looks about him. Better to give up with a good grace. He has made +a hundred friends by that hearty, astonished laugh. Good Jacob Poot! + +The fine fellow is already among the spectators, gazing as eagerly as +the rest. + +A cloud of feathery ice flies from the heels of the skaters as they +"bring to," and turn at the flagstaffs. + +Something black is coming now,--one of the boys: it is all we know. He +has touched the _vox humana_ stop of the crowd; it fairly roars. Now +they come nearer; we can see the red cap. There's Ben, there's Peter, +there's Hans! + +Hans is ahead. Young Madame Van Gend almost crushes the flowers in her +hand: she had been quite sure that Peter would be first. Carl Schummel +is next, then Ben, and the youth with the red cap. The others are +pressing close. A tall figure darts from among them. He passes the red +cap, he passes Ben, then Carl. Now it is an even race between him and +Hans. Madame Van Gend catches her breath. + +It is Peter! He is ahead! Hans shoots past him. Hilda's eyes fill with +tears: Peter _must_ beat. Annie's eyes flash proudly. Gretel gazes +with clasped hands: four strokes more will take her brother to the +columns. + +He is there! Yes; but so was young Schummel just a second before. At +the last instant, Carl, gathering his powers, had whizzed between +them, and passed the goal. + +"CARL SCHUMMEL, ONE MILE!" shouts the crier. + +Soon Madame Van Gleck rises again. The falling handkerchief starts the +bugle, and the bugle, using its voice as a bowstring, shoots off +twenty girls like so many arrows. + +It is a beautiful sight; but one has not long to look: before we can +fairly distinguish them they are far in the distance. This time they +are close upon one another. It is hard to say, as they come speeding +back from the flagstaff, which will reach the columns first. There are +new faces among the foremost,--eager glowing faces, unnoticed before. +Katrinka is there, and Hilda; but Gretel and Rychie are in the rear. +Gretel is wavering, but when Rychie passes her she starts forward +afresh. Now they are nearly beside Katrinka. Hilda is still in +advance: she is almost "home." She has not faltered since that bugle +note sent her flying: like an arrow, still she is speeding toward the +goal. Cheer after cheer rises in the air. Peter is silent, but his +eyes shine like stars. "Huzza! Huzza!" + +The crier's voice is heard again. + +"HILDA VAN GLECK, ONE MILE!" + +A loud murmur of approval runs through the crowd, catching the music +in its course, till all seems one sound, with a glad rhythmic +throbbing in its depths. When the flag waves all is still. + +Once more the bugle blows a terrific blast. It sends off the boys like +chaff before the wind,--dark chaff, I admit, and in big pieces. + +It is whisked around at the flagstaff, driven faster yet by the cheers +and shouts along the line. We begin to see what is coming. There are +three boys in advance this time, and all abreast,--Hans, Peter, and +Lambert. Carl soon breaks the ranks, rushing through with a whiff. +Fly, Hans; fly, Peter; don't let Carl beat again!--Carl the bitter, +Carl the insolent. Van Mounen is flagging, but you are as strong as +ever. Hans and Peter, Peter and Hans; which is foremost? We love them +both. We scarcely care which is the fleeter. + +Hilda, Annie, and Gretel, seated upon the long crimson bench, can +remain quiet no longer. They spring to their feet, so different! and +yet one in eagerness. Hilda instantly reseats herself: none shall know +how interested she is; none shall know how anxious, how filled with +one hope. Shut your eyes then, Hilda, hide your face rippling with +joy. Peter has beaten. + +"PETER VAN HOLP, ONE MILE!" calls the crier. + +The same buzz of excitement as before, while the judges take notes, +the same throbbing of music through the din; but something is +different. A little crowd presses close about some object near the +column. Carl has fallen. He is not hurt, though somewhat stunned. If +he were less sullen, he would find more sympathy in these warm young +hearts. As it is, they forget him as soon as he is fairly on his feet +again. + +The girls are to skate their third mile. + +How resolute the little maidens look, as they stand in a line! Some +are solemn with a sense of responsibility; some wear a smile, half +bashful, half provoked; but one air of determination pervades them +all. + +This third mile may decide the race. Still, if neither Gretel nor +Hilda win, there is yet a chance among the rest for the silver skates. + +Each girl feels sure that this time she will accomplish the distance +in one-half the time. How they stamp to try their runners! How +nervously they examine each strap! How erect they stand at last, every +eye upon Madame Van Gleck! + +The bugle thrills through them again. With quivering eagerness they +spring forward, bending, but in perfect balance. Each flashing stroke +seems longer than the last. + +Now they are skimming off in the distance. + +Again the eager straining of eyes; again the shouts and cheering; +again the thrill of excitement, as after a few moments, four or five +in advance of the rest come speeding back, nearer, nearer to the white +columns. + +Who is first? Not Rychie, Katrinka, Annie, nor Hilda, nor the girl in +yellow, but Gretel,--Gretel, the fleetest sprite of a girl that ever +skated. She was but playing in the earlier race: _now_ she is in +earnest, or rather, something within her has determined to win. That +blithe little form makes no effort; but it cannot stop,--not until the +goal is passed! + +In vain the crier lifts his voice: he cannot be heard. He has no news +to tell: it is already ringing through the crowd,--_Gretel has won the +silver skates!_ + +Like a bird she has flown over the ice; like a bird she looks about +her in a timid, startled way. She longs to dart to the sheltered nook +where her father and mother stand. But Hans is beside her; the girls +are crowding round. Hilda's kind, joyous voice breathes in her ear. +From that hour none will despise her. Goose-girl or not, Gretel stands +acknowledged Queen of the Skaters. + +With natural pride, Hans turns to see if Peter Van Holp is witnessing +his sister's triumph. Peter is not looking toward them at all. He is +kneeling, bending his troubled face low, and working hastily at his +skate-strap. Hans is beside him at once. + +"Are you in trouble, mynheer?" + +"Ah, Hans! that you? Yes; my fun is over. I tried to tighten my strap +to make a new hole, and this botheration of a knife has cut it nearly +in two." + +"Mynheer," said Hans, at the same time pulling off a skate, "you must +use my strap!" + +"Not I, indeed, Hans Brinker!" cried Peter, looking up; "though I +thank you warmly. Go to your post, my friend: the bugle will sound in +a minute." + +"Mynheer," pleaded Hans in a husky voice, "you have called me your +friend. Take this strap--quick! There is not an instant to lose. I +shall not skate this time: indeed, I am out of practice. Mynheer, you +_must_ take it;" and Hans, blind and deaf to any remonstrance, slipped +his strap into Peter's skate, and implored him to put it on. + +"Come, Peter!" cried Lambert from the line: "we are waiting for you." + +"For Madame's sake," pleaded Hans, "be quick! She is motioning to you +to join the racers. There, the skate is almost on: quick, mynheer, +fasten it. I could not possibly win. The race lies between Master +Schummel and yourself." + +"You are a noble fellow, Hans!" cried Peter, yielding at last. He +sprang to his post just as the handkerchief fell to the ground. The +bugle sends forth its blast, loud, clear, and ringing. + +Off go the boys! + +"Mein Gott!" cries a tough old fellow from Delft. "They beat +everything, these Amsterdam youngsters. See them!" + +See them, indeed! They are winged Mercuries, every one of them. What +mad errand are they on? Ah, I know; they are hunting Peter Van Holp. +He is some fleet-footed runaway from Olympus. Mercury and his troop of +winged cousins are in full chase. They will catch him! Now Carl is the +runaway. The pursuit grows furious. Ben is foremost! + +The chase turns in a cloud of mist. It is coming this way. Who is +hunted now? Mercury himself. It is Peter, Peter Van Holp! Fly, Peter! +Hans is watching you. He is sending all his fleetness, all his +strength, into your feet. Your mother and sister are pale with +eagerness. Hilda is trembling, and dare not look up, Fly, Peter! The +crowd has not gone deranged; it is only cheering. The pursuers are +close upon you. Touch the white column! It beckons; it is reeling +before you--it-- + +"Huzza! Huzza! Peter has won the silver skates!" + +"PETER VAN HOLP!" shouted the crier. But who heard him? "Peter Van +Holp!" shouted a hundred voices; for he was the favorite boy of the +place. "Huzza! Huzza!" + +Now the music was resolved to be heard. It struck up a lively air, +then a tremendous march. The spectators, thinking something new was +about to happen, deigned to listen and to look. + +The racers formed in single file. Peter, being tallest, stood first. +Gretel, the smallest of all, took her place at the end. Hans, who had +borrowed a strap from the cake-boy, was near the head. + +Three gayly twined arches were placed at intervals upon the river, +facing the Van Gleck pavilion. + +Skating slowly, and in perfect time to the music, the boys and girls +moved forward, led on by Peter, It was beautiful to see the bright +procession glide along like a living creature. It curved and doubled, +and drew its graceful length in and out among the arches; whichever +way Peter, the head, went, the body was sure to follow. Sometimes it +steered direct for the centre arch; then, as if seized with a new +impulse, turned away and curled itself about the first one; then +unwound slowly, and bending low, with quick snake-like curvings, +crossed the river, passing at length through the farthest arch. + +When the music was slow, the procession seemed to crawl like a thing +afraid; it grew livelier, and the creature darted forward with a +spring, gliding rapidly among the arches, in and out, curling, +twisting, turning, never losing form, until at the shrill call of the +bugle rising above the music it suddenly resolved itself into boys and +girls, standing in double semicircle before Madame Van Gleck's +pavilion. + +Peter and Gretel stand in the centre, in advance of the others. Madame +Van Gleck rises majestically. Gretel trembles, but feels that she +must look at the beautiful lady. She cannot hear what is said, there +is such a buzzing all around her. She is thinking that she ought to +try and make a courtesy, such as her mother makes to the _meester_, +when suddenly something so dazzling is placed in her hand that she +gives a cry of joy. + +Then she ventures to look about her. Peter too has something in his +hands. "Oh, oh! how splendid!" she cries; and "Oh! how splendid!" is +echoed as far as people can see. + +Meantime the silver skates flash in the sunshine, throwing dashes of +light upon those two happy faces. + +"Mevrouw Van Gend sends a little messenger with her bouquets,--one for +Hilda, one for Carl, and others for Peter and Gretel." + +At sight of the flowers, the Queen of the Skaters becomes +uncontrollable. With a bright stare of gratitude, she gathers skates +and bouquet in her apron, hugs them to her bosom, and darts off to +search for her father and mother in the scattering crowd. + + + + +JOHN DONNE + +(1573-1631) + +[Illustration: JOHN DONNE] + + +"The memory of Dr. Donne must not, cannot die, as long as men speak +English," wrote Izaak Walton, "whilst his conversation made him and +others happy. His life ought to be the example of more than that age +in which he died." + +Born in 1573, all the influences of the age in which Donne lived +nourished his large nature and genius. Shakespeare and Marlowe were +nine years older than he; Chapman fourteen; Spenser, Lyly, and Richard +Hooker each twenty; while Sir Philip Sidney counted one year less. +Lodge and Puttenham were grown men, and Greene and Nash riotous boys. +In the following year Ben Jonson "came forth to warm our ears," and +soon after we have his future co-worker Inigo Jones. It was the time +of a multitude of poets,--Drayton, the Fletchers, Beaumont, Wither, +Herrick, Carew, Suckling, and others. Imagination was foremost, and +was stimulated by vast discoveries. Debates upon ecclesiastical +reform, led by Wyclif, Tyndal, Knox, Foxe, Sternhold, Hopkins, and +others, had prepared the way; and the luminous literatures of Greece +and Italy, but recently brought into England, had made men's spirits +receptive and creative. It was a period of vast conceptions, when men +discovered themselves and the world afresh. + +Under such outward conditions Donne was born, in London, "of good and +virtuous parents," says Walton, being descended on his mother's side +from no less distinguished a personage than Sir Thomas More. In 1584, +when he was eleven years old, with a good command both of French and +Latin, he passed from the hands of tutors at home to Hare Hall, a much +frequented college at Oxford. Here he formed a friendship with Henry +Wotton, who, after the poet's death, collected the material from which +Walton wrote his tender and sincere 'Life of Donne.' + +After leaving Oxford he traveled for three years on the Continent, and +on his return in 1592 became a member of Lincoln's Inn, with intent to +study law; but his law never, says Walton, "served him for other use +than an ornament and self-satisfaction." While a member of Lincoln's +Inn he became one of the coterie of the poets of his youth. To this +time are to be referred those of his 'Divine Poems' which show him a +sincere Catholic. Stirred by the increasing differences between the +Romanist and the Anglican denominations, Donne turned toward +theological questions, and finally cast his lot with the new +doctrines. His large nature, impetuously reacting from the asceticism +to which he had been bred, turned to excess and overboldness in +action, and an occasional coarseness of phrasing in his poems. + +The first of his famous 'Satires' are dated 1593, and all were +probably written before 1601. During this time also he squandered his +father's legacy of £3000. In 1596, when the Earl of Essex defeated the +Spanish navy and pillaged Cadiz, Donne, now one of the first poets of +the time, was among his followers. "Not long after his return into +England ... the Lord Ellesmere, the Keeper of the Great Seal,... +taking notice of his learning, languages, and other abilities, and +much affecting his person and behavior, took him to be his chief +secretary, supposing and intending it to be an introduction to some +weighty employment in the State;... and did always use him with much +courtesy, appointing him a place at his own table." Here he met the +niece of Lady Ellesmere,--the daughter of Sir George More, Lord +Lieutenant of the Tower,--whom at Christmas, 1600, he married, despite +the opposition of her father. Sir George, transported with wrath, +obtained Donne's imprisonment; but the poet finally regained his +liberty and his wife, Sir George in the end forgiving the young +couple. "Mr. Donne's estate was the greatest part spent in many +chargeable travels, books, and dear-bought experience, he [being] out +of all employment that might yield a support for himself and wife." +The depth and intensity of Donne's feeling for this beautiful and +accomplished woman are manifested, says Mr. Norton, in all the poems +known to be addressed to her, such as 'The Anniversary' and 'The +Token.' + +Of 'The Valediction Forbidding Mourning' Walton declares:--"I beg +leave to tell that I have heard some critics, learned both in +languages and poetry, say that none of the Greek or Latin poets did +ever equal them;" while from Lowell's unpublished 'Lecture on Poetic +Diction' Professor Norton quotes the opinion that "This poem is a +truly sacred one, and fuller of the soul of poetry than a whole +Alexandrian Library of common love verses." + +During this period of writing for court favors, Donne wrote many of +his sonnets and studied the civil and canon law. After the death of +his patron Sir Francis in 1606, Donne divided his time between +Mitcham, whither he had removed his family, and London, where he +frequented distinguished and fashionable drawing-rooms. At this time +he wrote his admirable epistles in verse, 'The Litany,' and funeral +elegies on Lady Markham and Mistress Bulstrode; but those poems are +merely "occasional," as he was not a poet by profession. At the +request of King James he wrote the 'Pseudo-Martyr,' published in 1610. +In 1611 appeared his funeral elegy 'An Anatomy of the World,' and one +year later another of like texture, 'On the Progress of the Soul,' +both poems being exalted and elaborate in thought and fancy. + +The King, desiring Donne to enter into the ministry, denied all +requests for secular preferment, and the unwilling poet deferred his +decision for almost three years. All that time he studied textual +divinity, Greek, and Hebrew. He was ordained about the beginning of +1615. The King made him his chaplain in ordinary, and promised other +preferments. "Now," says Walton, "the English Church had gained a +second St. Austin, for I think none was so like him before his +conversion, none so like St. Ambrose after it; and if his youth had +the infirmities of the one, his age had the excellences of the other, +the learning and holiness of both." + +In 1621 the King made him Dean of St. Paul's, and vicar of St. Dunstan +in the West. By these and other ecclesiastical emoluments "he was +enabled to become charitable to the poor and kind to his friends, and +to make such provision for his children that they were not left +scandalous, as relating to their or his profession or quality." + +His first printed sermons appeared in 1622. The epigrammatic terseness +and unexpected turns of imagination which characterize the poems, are +found also in his discourses. Three years later, during a dangerous +illness, he composed his 'Devotion.' He died on the 31st of March, +1631. + +"Donne is full of salient verses," says Lowell in his 'Shakespeare +Once More,' "that would take the rudest March winds of criticism with +their beauty; of thoughts that first tease us like charades, and then +delight us with the felicity of their solution." There are few in +which an occasional loftiness is sustained throughout, but this +occasional excellence is original, condensed, witty, showing a firm +and strong mind, clear to a degree almost un-English. His poetry has +somewhat of the stability of the Greeks, though it may lack their +sweetness and art. His grossness was the heritage of his time. He is +classed among the "metaphysical poets," of whom Dr. Johnson +wrote:--"They were of very little care to clothe their notions with +elegance of dress, and therefore miss the notice and the praise which +are often gained by those who think less, but are more diligent to +adorn their thoughts." It was in obedience to such a dictum, and to +Dryden's suggestion, doubtless, that Pope and Parnell recast and +re-versified the 'Satires.' + +The first edition of Donne's poems appeared two years after his death. +Several editions succeeded during the seventeenth century. In the more +artificial eighteenth century his harsh and abrupt versification and +remote theorems made him difficult to understand. The best editions +are 'The Complete Poems of John Donne,' edited by Dr. Alexander +Grosart (1872); and 'The Poems of John Donne,' from the text of the +edition of 1633, edited by Charles Eliot Norton (1895), from whose +work the citations in this volume are taken. + + + +THE UNDERTAKING + + + I have done one braver thing + Than all the Worthies did, + And yet a braver thence doth spring, + Which is, to keep that hid. + + It were but madness now t' impart + The skill of specular stone, + When he which can have learned the art + To cut it, can find none. + + So, if I now should utter this, + Others (because no more + Such stuff to work upon there is) + Would love but as before: + + But he who loveliness within + Hath found, all outward loathes; + For he who color loves, and skin, + Loves but their oldest clothes. + + If, as I have, you also do + Virtue attired in women see, + And dare love that and say so too, + And forget the He and She; + + And if this love, though placed so, + From profane men you hide, + Which will no faith on this bestow, + Or, if they do, deride; + + Then you have done a braver thing + Than all the Worthies did, + And a braver thence will spring, + Which is, to keep that hid. + + + +A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING + + + As virtuous men pass mildly away, + And whisper to their souls to go, + Whilst some of their sad friends do say, + "The breath goes now," and some say "No"; + + So let us melt and make no noise, + No tear-floods nor sigh-tempests move; + 'Twere profanation of our joys + To tell the laity our love. + + Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears; + Men reckon what it did and meant; + But trepidation of the spheres, + Though greater far, is innocent. + + Dull sublunary lovers' love + (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit + Absence, because it doth remove + Those things which elemented it. + + But we by a love so much refined + That ourselves know not what it is, + Inter-assurèd of the mind, + Care less eyes, lips, hands to miss. + + Our two souls, therefore, which are one, + Though I must go, endure not yet + A breach, but an expansiòn, + Like gold to airy thinness beat. + + If they be two, they are two so + As stiff twin compasses are two; + Thy soul, the fixt foot, makes no show + To move, but doth if the other do, + + And though it in the centre sit, + Yet when the other far doth roam, + It leans and hearkens after it, + And grows erect as that comes home. + + Such wilt thou be to me, who must, + Like th' other foot, obliquely run; + Thy firmness makes my circle just, + And makes me end where I begun. + + + +SONG + + + Go and catch a falling star, + Get with child a mandrake root, + Tell me where all past years are, + Or who cleft the devil's foot, + Teach me to hear mermaids singing, + Or to keep off envy's stinging, + And find + What wind + Serves to advance an honest mind. + + If thou be'st born to strange sights, + Things invisible to see, + Ride ten thousand days and nights, + Till age snow white hairs on thee, + Then, when thou return'st, wilt tell me + All strange wonders that befell thee, + And swear, + Nowhere + Lives a woman true and fair. + + If thou find'st one, let me know; + Such a pilgrimage were sweet; + Yet do not: I would not go, + Though at next door we might meet; + Though she were true when you met her, + And last till you write your letter, + Yet she + Will be + False, ere I come, to two or three. + + + +LOVE'S GROWTH + + + I scarce believe my love to be so pure + As I had thought it was, + Because it doth endure + Vicissitude and season as the grass; + Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore + My love was infinite, if spring make it more. + But if this medicine love, which cures all sorrow + With more, not only be no quintessence + But mixed of all stuffs paining soul or sense, + And of the sun his working vigor borrow, + Love's not so pure and abstract as they use + To say, which have no mistress but their muse, + But as all else, being elemented too, + Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do. + + And yet no greater, but more eminent, + Love by the spring is grown; + As in the firmament + Stars by the sun are not enlarged, but shown, + Gentle love-deeds, as blossoms on a bough, + From love's awakened root do bud out now. + If, as in water stirred, more circles be + Produced by one, love such additions take, + Thou, like so many spheres, but one heaven make, + For they are all concentric unto thee; + And though each spring do add to love new heat, + As princes do in times of action get + New taxes and remit them not in peace, + No winter shall abate the spring's increase. + + + +SONG + + + Sweetest Love, I do not go + For weariness of thee, + Nor in hope the world can show + A fitter Love for me: + But since that I + Must die at last, 'tis best + To use myself in jest + Thus by feigned deaths to die. + + Yesternight the sun went hence, + And yet is here to-day; + He hath no desire nor sense, + Nor half so short a way. + Then fear not me, + But believe that I shall make + Speedier journeys, since I take + More wings and spurs than he. + + Oh, how feeble is man's power, + That, if good fortune fall, + Cannot add another hour, + Nor a lost hour recall! + But come bad chance, + And we join to it our strength, + And we teach it art and length, + Itself o'er us to advance. + + When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not wind, + But sigh'st my soul away; + When thou weep'st, unkindly kind, + My life's blood doth decay. + It cannot be + That thou lov'st me as thou say'st, + If in thine my life thou waste; + Thou art the best of me. + + Let not thy divining heart + Forethink me any ill; + Destiny may take thy part, + And may thy fears fulfill: + But think that we + Are but turned aside to sleep: + They who one another keep + Alive, ne'er parted be. + + + + +FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOÉVSKY + +(1821-1881) + +BY ISABEL F. HAPGOOD + +[Illustration: FEODOR DOSTOÉVSKY] + + +In certain respects Dostoévsky is the most characteristically national +of Russian writers. Precisely for that reason, his work does not +appeal to so wide a circle outside of his own country as does the work +of Turgénieff and Count L.N. Tolstoy. This result flows not only from +the natural bent of his mind and temperament, but also from the +peculiar vicissitudes of his life as compared with the comparatively +even tenor of their existence, and the circumstances of the time in +which he lived. These circumstances, it is true, were felt by the +writers mentioned; but practically they affected him far more deeply +than they did the others, with their rather one-sided training; and +his fellow-countrymen--especially the young of both sexes--were not +slow to express their appreciation of the fact. His special domain was +the one which Turgénieff and Tolstoy did not understand, and have +touched not at all, or only incidentally,--the great middle class of +society, or what corresponds thereto in Russia. + +Through his father, Mikhail Andréevitch Dostoévsky, Feodor +Mikhailovitch belonged to the class of "nobles,"--that is to say, to +the gentry; through his mother, to the respectable, well-to-do +merchant class, which is still distinct from the other, and was even +more so during the first half of the present century; and in personal +appearance he was a typical member of the peasant class. The father +was resident physician in the Marie Hospital for the Poor in Moscow, +having entered the civil service at the end of the war of 1812, during +which he had served as a physician in the army. In the very contracted +apartment which he occupied in the hospital, Feodor was born--one of a +family of seven children, all of whom, with the exception of the +eldest and the youngest, were born there--on October 30th (November +11th), 1821. The parents were very upright, well-educated, devoutly +religious people; and as Feodor expressed it many years later to his +elder brother, after their father died, "Do you know, our parents +were very superior people, and they would have been superior even in +these days." The children were brought up at home as long as possible, +and received their instruction from tutors and their father. Even +after the necessity of preparing the two elder boys for a government +institution forced the parents to send them to a boarding-school +during the week, they continued their strict supervision over their +associates, discouraged nearly all friendships with their comrades, +and never allowed them to go into the street unaccompanied, after the +national custom in good families, even at the age of seventeen or +more. + +Feodor, according to the account of his brothers and relatives, was +always a quiet, studious lad, and he with his elder brother Mikhail +spent their weekly holidays chiefly in reading, Walter Scott and James +Fenimore Cooper being among their favorite authors; though Russian +writers, especially Pushkin, were not neglected. During many of these +years the mother and children passed the summers on a little estate in +the country which the father bought, and it was there that Feodor +Mikhailovitch first made acquaintance with the beauties of nature, to +which he eloquently refers in after life, and especially with the +peasants, their feelings and temper, which greatly helped him in his +psychological studies and in his ability to endure certain trials +which came upon him. There can be no doubt that his whole training +contributed not only to the literary tastes which the famous author +and his brother cherished throughout their lives, but to the formation +of that friendship between them which was stronger than all others, +and to the sincere belief in religion and the profound piety which +permeated the spirit and the books of Feodor Mikhailovitch. + +In 1837 the mother died, and the father took his two eldest sons to +St. Petersburg to enter them in the government School of Engineers. +But the healthy Mikhail was pronounced consumptive by the doctor, +while the sickly Feodor was given a certificate of perfect health. +Consequently Mikhail was rejected, and went to the Engineers' School +in Revel, while Feodor, always quiet and reserved, was left lonely in +the St. Petersburg school. Here he remained for three years, studying +well, but devoting a great deal of time to his passionately beloved +literary subjects, and developing a precocious and penetrating +critical judgment on such matters. It is even affirmed that he began +or wrote the first draft of his famous book 'Poor People,' by night, +during this period; though in another account he places its +composition later. After graduating well as ensign in 1841, he studied +for another year, and became an officer with the rank of +sub-lieutenant, and entered on active service, attached to the +draughting department of the Engineers' School, in August 1843. + +A little more than a year later he resigned from the service, in order +that he might devote himself wholly to literature. His father had died +in the mean time, and had he possessed any practical talent he might +have lived in comfort on the sums which his guardian sent him. But +throughout his life people seemed to fleece him at will; he lost large +sums at billiards with strangers, and otherwise; he was generous and +careless; in short, he was to the end nearly always in debt, anxiety, +and difficulties. Then came the first important crisis in his life. He +wrote (or re-wrote) 'Poor People'; and said of his state of mind, as +he reckoned up the possible pecuniary results, that he could not sleep +for nights together, and "If my undertaking does not succeed, perhaps +I shall hang myself." The history of that success is famous and +stirring. His only acquaintance in literary circles was his old +comrade D.V. Grigorovitch (also well known as a writer), and to him he +committed the manuscript. His friend took it to the poet and editor +Nekrásoff, in the hope that it might appear in the 'Collection' which +the latter was intending to publish. Dostoévsky was especially afraid +of the noted critic Byelinsky's judgment on it: "He will laugh at my +'Poor People,'" said he; "but I wrote it with passion, almost with +tears." + +He spent the evening with a friend, reading with him, as was the +fashion of the time, Gogol's 'Dead Souls,' and returned home at four +o'clock in the morning. It was one of the "white nights" of early +summer, and he sat down by his window. Suddenly the door-bell rang, +and in rushed Grigorovitch and Nekrásoff, who flung themselves upon +his neck. They had begun to read his story in the evening, remarking +that "ten pages would suffice to show its quality." But they had gone +on reading, relieving each other as their voices failed them with +fatigue and emotion, until the whole was finished. At the point where +Pokrovsky's old father runs after his coffin, Nekrásoff pounded the +table with the manuscript, deeply affected, and exclaimed, "Deuce take +him!" Then they decide to hasten to Dostoévsky: "No matter if he is +asleep--we will wake him up. _This_ is above sleep." + +This sort of glory and success was exactly of that pure, unmixed sort +which Dostoévsky had longed for. When Nekrásoff went to Byelinsky with +the manuscript of 'Poor People,' and announced, "A new Gogol has made +his appearance!" the critic retorted with severity, "Gogols spring up +like mushrooms among us." But when he had read the story he said, +"Bring him hither, bring him quickly;" and welcomed Dostoévsky when he +came, with extreme dignity and reserve, but exclaimed in a moment, "Do +you understand yourself what sort of a thing this is that you have +written?" From that moment the young author's fame was assured, and he +became known and popular even in advance of publication in a wide +circle of literary and other people, as was the fashion of those days +in Russia. When the story appeared, the public rapturously echoed the +judgment of the critics. + +The close friendship which sprang up between Byelinsky and Dostoévsky +was destined, however, to exert an extraordinary influence upon +Dostoévsky's career, quite apart from its critical aspect. Byelinsky +was an atheist and a socialist, and Dostoévsky was brought into +relations with persons who shared those views, although he himself +never wavered, apparently, in his religious faith, and was never in +harmony with any other aspirations of his associates except that of +freeing the serfs. Notwithstanding this, he became involved in the +catastrophe which overtook many visitors, occasional or constant, of +the "circles" at whose head stood Petrashevsky. The whole affair is +known as the Conspiracy of Petrashevsky. During the '40's the students +at the St. Petersburg University formed small gatherings where +sociological subjects were the objects of study, and read the works of +Stein, Haxthausen, Louis Blanc, Fourier, Proudhon, and other similar +writers. Gradually assemblies of this sort were formed outside of the +University. Petrashevsky, an employee of the Department of Foreign +Affairs, who had graduated from the Lyceum and the University, and who +was ambitious of winning power and a reputation for eccentricity, +learned of these little clubs and encouraged their growth. He did not +however encourage their close association among themselves, but +rather, entire dependence on himself, as the centre of authority, the +guide; and urged them to inaugurate a sort of propaganda. Dostoévsky +himself declared, about thirty years later, that "the socialists +sprang from the followers of Petrashevsky; they sowed much seed." He +has dealt with them and their methods in his novel 'Demons'; though +perhaps not with exact accuracy. But they helped him to an elucidation +of the contemporary situation, which Turgénieff had treated in 'Virgin +Soil.' The chief subject of their political discussions was the +emancipation of the serfs, and many of Petrashevsky's followers +reckoned upon a rising of the serfs themselves, though it was proved +that Dostoévsky maintained the propriety and necessity of the reform +proceeding from the government. This was no new topic; the Emperor +Nicholas I. had already begun to plan the Emancipation, and it is +probable that it would have taken place long before it did, had it not +been for this very conspiracy. From the point of view of the +government, the movement was naturally dangerous, especially in view +of what was taking place in Europe at that epoch. Dostoévsky bore +himself critically toward the socialistic writings and doctrines, +maintaining that in their own Russian system of workingmen's guilds +with reciprocal bonds there existed surer and more normal foundations +than in all the dreams of Saint-Simon and all his school. He did not +even visit very frequently the circle to which he particularly +belonged, and was rarely at the house of Petrashevsky, whom many +personally disliked. + +But on one occasion, as he was a good reader, he was asked to read +aloud Byelinsky's famous letter to Gogol, which was regarded as a +victorious manifest of "Western" (_i. e._, of socialistic) views. +This, technically, was propagating revolution, and was the chief +charge against him when the catastrophe happened, and he, together +with over thirty other "Petrashevtzi," was arrested on April 23d (May +5th), 1849. In the Peter-Paul Fortress prison, where he was kept for +eight months pending trial, Dostoévsky wrote 'The Little Hero,' two or +three unimportant works having appeared since 'Poor People.' At last +he, with several others, was condemned to death and led out for +execution. The history of that day, and the analysis of his sensations +and emotions, are to be found in several of his books: 'Crime and +Punishment,' 'The Idiot,' 'The Karamazoff Brothers.' At the last +moment it was announced to them that the Emperor had commuted their +sentence to exile in varying degrees, and they were taken to Siberia. +Alexei Pleshtcheeff, then twenty-three years of age, the man who sent +Byelinsky's letter to Dostoévsky, was banished for a short term of +years to the disciplinary brigade in Orenburg; and when I saw him in +St. Petersburg forty years later, I was able to form a faint idea of +what Dostoévsky's popularity must have been, by the way in which +he,--a man of much less talent, originality, and personal power,--was +surrounded, even in church, by adoring throngs of young people. +Dostoévsky's sentence was "four years at forced labor in prison; after +that, to serve as a common soldier"; but he did not lose his nobility +and his civil rights, being the first noble to retain them under such +circumstances. + +The story of what he did and suffered during his imprisonment is to be +found in his 'Notes from the House of the Dead,' where, under the +disguise of a man sentenced to ten years' labor for the murder of his +wife, he gives us a startling, faithful, but in some respects a +consoling picture of life in a Siberian prison. His own judgment as to +his exile was, "The government only defended itself;" and when people +said to him, "How unjust your exile was!" he replied, even with +irritation, "No, it was just. The people themselves would have +condemned us." Moreover, he did not like to give benefit readings in +later years from his 'Notes from the House of the Dead,' lest he might +be thought to complain. Besides, this catastrophe was the making of +him, by his own confession; he had become a confirmed hypochondriac, +with a host of imaginary afflictions and ills, and had this affair not +saved him from himself he said that he "should have gone mad." It +seems certain, from the testimony of his friend and physician, that he +was already subject to the epileptic fits which he himself was wont to +attribute to his imprisonment; and which certainly increased in +severity as the years went on, until they occurred once a month or +oftener, in consequence of overwork and excessive nervous strain. In +his novel 'The Idiot,' whose hero is an epileptic, he has made a +psychological study of his sensations before and after such fits, and +elsewhere he makes allusions to them. + +After serving in the ranks and being promoted officer when he had +finished his term of imprisonment, he returned to Russia in 1859, and +lived first at Tver; afterward, when permitted, in St. Petersburg. The +history of his first marriage--which took place in Siberia, to the +widow of a friend--is told with tolerable accuracy in his 'Humbled and +Insulted,' which also contains a description of his early struggles +and the composition of 'Poor People,' the hero who narrates the tale +of his love and sacrifice being himself. Like that hero, he tried to +facilitate his future wife's marriage to another man. He was married +to his second wife, by whom he had four children, in 1867, and to her +he owed much happiness and material comfort. It will be seen that much +is to be learned concerning our author from his own novels, though it +would hardly be safe to write a biography from them alone. Even in +'Crime and Punishment,' his greatest work in a general way, he +reproduces events of his own life, meditations, wonderfully accurate +descriptions of the third-rate quarter of the town in which he lived +after his return from Siberia, while engaged on some of his numerous +newspaper and magazine enterprises. + +This journalistic turn of mind, combined in nearly equal measures with +the literary talent, produced several singular effects. It rendered +his periodical 'Diary of a Writer' the most enormously popular +publication of the day, and a success when previous ventures had +failed, though it consisted entirely of his own views on current +topics of interest, literary questions, and whatever came into his +head. On his novels it had a rather disintegrating effect. Most of +them are of great length, are full of digressions from the point, and +there is often a lack of finish about them which extends not only to +the minor characters but to the style in general. In fact, his style +is neither jewel-like in its brilliancy, as is Turgénieff's, nor has +it the elegance, broken by carelessness, of Tolstoy's. But it was +popular, remarkably well adapted to the class of society which it was +his province to depict, and though diffuse, it is not possible to omit +any of the long psychological analyses, or dreams, or series of +ratiocinations, without injuring the web of the story and the moral, +as chain armor is spoiled by the rupture of a link. This indeed is one +of the great difficulties which the foreigner encounters in an +attempt to study Dostoévsky: the translators have been daunted by his +prolixity, and have often cut his works down to a mere skeleton of the +original. Moreover, he deals with a sort of Russian society which it +is hard for non-Russians to grasp, and he has no skill whatever in +presenting aristocratic people or society, to which foreigners have +become accustomed in the works of his great contemporaries Turgénieff +and Tolstoy; while he never, despite all his genuine admiration for +the peasants and keen sympathy with them, attempts any purely peasant +tales like Turgénieff's 'Notes of a Sportsman' or Tolstoy's 'Tales for +the People.' Naturally, this is but one reason the more why he should +be studied. His types of hero, and of feminine character, are peculiar +to himself. Perhaps the best way to arrive at his ideal--and at his +own character, _plus_ a certain irritability and tendency to suspicion +of which his friends speak--is to scrutinize the pictures of Prince +Myshkin ('The Idiot'), Ivan ('Humbled and Insulted'), and Alyosha +('The Karamazoff Brothers'). Pure, delicate both physically and +morally, as Dostoévsky himself is described by those who knew him +best; devout, gentle, intensely sympathetic, strongly masculine yet +with a large admixture of the feminine element--such are these three; +such is also, in his way, Raskolnikoff ('Crime and Punishment'). +His feminine characters are the precise counterparts of these in +many respects, but are often also quixotic even to boldness and +wrong-headedness, like Aglaya ('The Idiot'), or to shame, like Sonia +('Crime and Punishment'), and the heroine of 'Humbled and Insulted.' +But Dostoévsky could not sympathize with and consequently could not +draw an aristocrat; his frequently recurring type of the dissolute +petty noble or rich merchant is frequently brutal; and his unclassed +women, though possibly quite as true to life as these men, are painful +in their callousness and recklessness. His earliest work, 'Poor +People,' written in the form of letters, is worthy of all the praises +which have been bestowed upon it, simple as is the story of the +poverty-stricken clerk who is almost too humble to draw his breath, +who pleads that one must wear a coat and boots which do not show the +bare feet, during the severe Russian winter, merely because public +opinion forces one thereto; and who shares his rare pence with a +distant but equally needy relative who is in a difficult position. +As a compact, subtle psychological study, his 'Crime and Punishment' +cannot be overrated, repulsive as it is in parts. The poor student who +kills the aged usurer with intent to rob, after prolonged argument +with himself that great geniuses, like Napoleon I. and the like, are +justified in committing any crime, and that he has a right to relieve +his poverty; and who eventually surrenders himself to the authorities +and accepts his exile as moral salvation,--is one of the strongest in +Russian literature, though wrong-headed and easily swayed, like all +the author's characters. + +In June 1880 Dostoévsky made a speech at the unveiling of Pushkin's +monument in Moscow, which completely overshadowed the speeches of +Turgénieff and Aksakoff, and gave rise to what was probably the most +extraordinary literary ovation ever seen in Russia. By that time he +had become the object of pilgrimages, on the part of the young +especially, to a degree which no other Russian author has ever +experienced, and the recipient of confidences, both personal and +written, which pressed heavily on his time and strength. That ovation +has never been surpassed, save by the astonishing concourse at his +funeral. He died of a lesion of the brain on January 28th (February +8th), 1881. Thousands followed his coffin for miles, but there was no +"demonstration," as that word is understood in Russia. Nevertheless it +was a demonstration in an unexpected way, since all classes of +society, even those which had not seemed closely interested or +sympathetic, now joined in the tribute of respect, which amounted to +loving enthusiasm. + +The works which I have mentioned are the most important, though he +wrote also 'The Stripling' and numerous shorter stories. His own +characterization of his work, when reproached with its occasional lack +of continuity and finish, was that his aim was to make his point, and +the exigencies of money and time under which he labored were to blame +for the defects which, with his keen literary judgment, he perceived +quite as clearly as did his critics. If that point be borne in mind, +it will help the reader to appreciate his literary-journalistic style, +and to pardon shortcomings for the sake of the pearls of principle and +psychology which can be fished up from the profound depths of his +voluminous tomes, and of his analysis. The gospel which Dostoévsky +consistently preached, from the beginning of his career to the end, +was love, self-sacrifice even to self-effacement. That was and is the +secret of his power, even over those who did not follow his precepts. + +[Illustration: Signature (Isabel F. Hapgood)] + + + +FROM 'POOR PEOPLE' + +LETTER FROM VARVARA DOBROSYELOFF TO MAKAR DYEVUSHKIN + + +Pokrovsky was a poor, very poor young man; his health did not permit +of his attending regularly to his studies, and so it was only by way +of custom that we called him a student. He lived modestly, peaceably, +quietly, so that we could not even hear him from our room. He was very +queer in appearance; he walked so awkwardly, bowed so uncouthly, spoke +in such a peculiar manner, that at first I could not look at him +without laughing. Moreover, he was of an irritable character, was +constantly getting angry, flew into a rage at the slightest trifle, +shouted at us, complained of us, and often went off to his own room in +a fit of wrath without finishing our lesson. He had a great many +books, all of them expensive, rare books. He gave lessons somewhere +else also, received some remuneration, and just as soon as he had a +little money, he went off and bought more books. + +In time I learned to understand him better. He was the kindest, the +most worthy man, the best man I ever met. My mother respected him +highly. Later on, he became my best friend--after my mother, of +course.... + +From time to time a little old man made his appearance at our house--a +dirty, badly dressed, small, gray-haired, sluggish, awkward old +fellow; in short, he was peculiar to the last degree. At first sight +one would have thought that he felt ashamed of something, that his +conscience smote him for something. He writhed and twisted constantly; +he had such tricks of manner and ways of shrugging his shoulders, that +one would not have been far wrong in assuming that he was a little +crazy. He would come and stand close to the glazed door in the +vestibule, and not dare to enter. As soon as one of us, Sasha or I or +one of the servants whom he knew to be kindly disposed toward him, +passed that way, he would begin to wave his hands, and beckon us to +him, and make signs; and only when we nodded to him or called to +him,--the signal agreed upon, that there was no stranger in the house +and that he might enter when he pleased,--only then would the old man +softly open the door, with a joyous smile, rubbing his hands together +with delight, and betake himself to Pokrovsky's room. He was his +father. + +Afterward I learned in detail the story of this poor old man. Once +upon a time he had been in the government service somewhere or other, +but he had not the slightest capacity, and his place in the service +was the lowest and most insignificant of all. When his first wife died +(the mother of the student Pokrovsky), he took it into his head to +marry again, and wedded a woman from the petty-merchant class. Under +the rule of this new wife, everything was at sixes and sevens in his +house; there was no living with her; she drew a tight rein over +everybody. Student Pokrovsky was a boy at that time, ten years of age. +His stepmother hated him. But fate was kind to little Pokrovsky. +Bykoff, a landed proprietor, who was acquainted with Pokrovsky the +father and had formerly been his benefactor, took the child under his +protection and placed him in a school. He took an interest in him +because he had known his dead mother, whom Anna Feodorovna had +befriended while she was still a girl, and who had married her off to +Pokrovsky. From school young Pokrovsky entered a gymnasium, and then +the University, but his impaired health prevented his continuing his +studies there. Mr. Bykoff introduced him to Anna Feodorovna, +recommended him to her, and in this way young Pokrovsky had been taken +into the house as a boarder, on condition that he should teach Sasha +all that was necessary. + +But old Pokrovsky fell into the lowest dissipation through grief at +his wife's harshness, and was almost always in a state of drunkenness. +His wife beat him, drove him into the kitchen to live, and brought +matters to such a point that at last he got used to being beaten and +ill-treated, and made no complaint. He was still far from being an old +man, but his evil habits had nearly destroyed his mind. The only sign +in him of noble human sentiments was his boundless love for his son. +It was said that young Pokrovsky was as like his dead mother as two +drops of water to each other. The old man could talk of nothing but +his son, and came to see him regularly twice a week. He dared not come +more frequently, because young Pokrovsky could not endure his father's +visits. Of all his failings, the first and greatest, without a doubt, +was his lack of respect for his father. However, the old man certainly +was at times the most intolerable creature in the world. In the first +place he was dreadfully inquisitive; in the second, by his chatter and +questions he interfered with his son's occupations; and lastly, he +sometimes presented himself in a state of intoxication. The son broke +the father, in a degree, of his faults,--of his inquisitiveness and +his chattering; and ultimately brought about such a condition of +affairs that the latter listened to all he said as to an oracle, and +dared not open his mouth without his permission. + +There were no bounds to the old man's admiration of and delight in his +Petinka, as he called his son. When he came to visit him he almost +always wore a rather anxious, timid expression, probably on account of +his uncertainty as to how his son would receive him, and generally +could not make up his mind for a long time to go in; and if I happened +to be present, he would question me for twenty minutes: How was +Petinka? Was he well? In what mood was he, and was not he occupied in +something important? What, precisely, was he doing? Was he writing, or +engaged in meditation? When I had sufficiently encouraged and soothed +him, the old man would at last make up his mind to enter, and would +open the door very, very softly, very, very cautiously, and stick his +head in first; and if he saw that his son was not angry, and nodded to +him, he would step gently into the room, take off his little coat, and +his hat, which was always crumpled, full of holes and with broken +rims, and hang them on a hook, doing everything very softly, and +inaudibly. Then he would seat himself cautiously on a chair and never +take his eyes from his son, but would watch his every movement in his +desire to divine the state of his Petinka's temper. If the son was not +exactly in the right mood, and the old man detected it, he instantly +rose from his seat and explained, "I only ran in for a minute, +Petinka. I have been walking a good ways, and happened to be passing +by, so I came in to rest myself." And then silently he took his poor +little coat and his wretched little hat, opened the door again very +softly, and went away, forcing a smile in order to suppress the grief +which was seething up in his soul, and not betray it to his son. + +But when the son received his father well, the old man was beside +himself with joy. His satisfaction shone forth in his face, in his +gestures, in his movements. If his son addressed a remark to him, the +old man always rose a little from his chair, and replied softly, +cringingly, almost reverently, and always made an effort to employ the +most select, that is to say, the most ridiculous expressions. But +he had not the gift of language; he always became confused and +frightened, so that he did not know what to do with his hands, or +what to do with his person, and went on, for a long time afterward, +whispering his answer to himself, as though desirous of recovering his +composure. But if he succeeded in making a good answer, the old man +gained courage, set his waistcoat to rights, and his cravat and his +coat, and assumed an air of personal dignity. Sometimes his courage +rose to such a point, his daring reached such a height, that he rose +gently from his chair, went up to the shelf of books, took down a +book. He did all this with an air of artificial indifference and +coolness, as though he could always handle his son's books in this +proprietary manner, as though his son's caresses were no rarity to +him. But I once happened to witness the old man's fright when +Pokrovsky asked him not to touch his books. He became confused, +hurriedly replaced the book upside down, then tried to put it right, +turned it round and set it wrong side to, leaves out, smiled, +reddened, and did not know how to expiate his crime. + +One day old Pokrovsky came in to see us. He chatted with us for a long +time, was unusually cheerful, alert, talkative; he laughed and joked +after his fashion, and at last revealed the secret of his raptures, +and announced to us that his Petinka's birthday fell precisely a week +later, and that it was his intention to call upon his son, without +fail, on that day; that he would don a new waistcoat, and that his +wife had promised to buy him some new boots. In short, the old man was +perfectly happy, and chattered about everything that came into his +head. + +His birthday! That birthday gave me no peace, either day or night. I +made up my mind faithfully to remind Pokrovsky of my friendship, and +to make him a present. But what? At last I hit upon the idea of giving +him some books. I knew that he wished to own the complete works of +Pushkin, in the latest edition. I had thirty rubles of my own, earned +by my handiwork. I had put this money aside for a new gown. I +immediately sent old Matryona, our cook, to inquire the price of a +complete set. Alas! The price of the eleven volumes, together with the +expenses of binding, would be sixty rubles at the very least. I +thought and thought, but could not tell what to do. I did not wish to +ask my mother. Of course she would have helped me; but, in that case +every one in the house would have known about our gift; moreover, the +gift would have been converted into an expression of gratitude, a +payment for Pokrovsky's labors for the whole year. My desire was to +make the present privately, unknown to any one. And for his toilsome +lessons to me I wished to remain forever indebted to him, without any +payment whatever. At last I devised an escape from my predicament. I +knew that one could often buy at half price from the old booksellers +in the Gostinny Dvor, if one bargained well, little used and almost +entirely new books. I made up my mind to go to the Gostinny Dvor +myself. So it came about; the very next morning both Anna Feodorovna +and we needed something. Mamma was not feeling well, and Anna +Feodorovna, quite opportunely, had a fit of laziness, so all the +errands were turned over to me, and I set out with Matryona. + +To my delight I soon found a Pushkin, and in a very handsome binding. +I began to bargain for it. How I enjoyed it! But alas! My entire +capital consisted of thirty rubles in paper, and the merchant would +not consent to accept less than ten rubles in silver. At last I began +to entreat him, and I begged and begged, until eventually he yielded. +But he only took off two rubles and a half, and swore that he had done +so only for my sake, because I was such a nice young lady, and that he +would not have come down in his price for any one else. Two rubles and +a half were still lacking! I was ready to cry with vexation. But the +most unexpected circumstance came to my rescue in my grief. Not far +from me, at another stall, I caught sight of old Pokrovsky. Four or +five old booksellers were clustered about him; he had completely lost +his wits, and they had thoroughly bewildered him. Each one was +offering him his wares, and what stuff they were offering, and what +all was he not ready to buy! I stepped up to him and asked him what he +was doing there? The old man was very glad to see me; he loved me +unboundedly,--no less than his Petinka, perhaps. "Why, I am buying a +few little books, Varvara Alexievna," he replied; "I am buying some +books for Petinka." I asked him if he had much money? "See here,"--and +the poor old man took out all his money, which was wrapped up in a +dirty scrap of newspaper; "here's a half-ruble, and a twenty-kopek +piece, and twenty kopeks in copper coins." I immediately dragged him +off to my bookseller. "Here are eleven books, which cost altogether +thirty-two rubles and a half; I have thirty; put your two rubles and a +half with mine, and we will buy all these books and give them to him +in partnership." The old man was quite beside himself with joy, and +the bookseller loaded him down with our common library. + +The next day the old man came to see his son, sat with him a little +while, then came to us and sat down beside me with a very comical air +of mystery. Every moment he grew more sad and uneasy; at last he could +hold out no longer. + +"Listen, Varvara Alexievna," he began timidly, in a low voice: "do you +know what, Varvara Alexievna?" The old man was dreadfully embarrassed. +"You see, when his birthday comes, do you take ten of those little +books and give them to him yourself, that is to say, from yourself, on +your own behalf; then I will take the eleventh and give it from +myself, for my share. So you see, you will have something to give, and +I shall have something to give; we shall both have something to give." + +I was awfully sorry for the old man. I did not take long to think it +over. The old man watched me anxiously. "Listen to me, Zakhar +Petrovitch," I said: "do you give him all."--"How all? Do you mean all +the books?"--"Yes, certainly, all the books."--"And from +myself?"--"From yourself."--"From myself alone--that is, in my own +name?"--"Yes, in your own name." I thought I was expressing myself +with sufficient clearness, but the old man could not understand me for +a long time. + +"You see," he explained to me at last, "I sometimes indulge myself, +Varvara Alexievna,--that is to say, I wish to state to you that I +nearly always indulge myself,--I do that which is not right,--that is, +you know, when it is cold out of doors, and when various unpleasant +things happen at times, or when I feel sad for any reason, or +something bad happens,--then sometimes, I do not restrain myself, and +I drink too much. This is very disagreeable to Petrushka, you see, +Varvara Alexievna; he gets angry, and he scolds me and reads me moral +lectures. So now I should like to show him by my gift that I have +reformed, and am beginning to conduct myself well; that I have been +saving up my money to buy a book, saving for a long time, because I +hardly ever have any money, except when it happens that Petrushka +gives me some now and then. He knows that. Consequently, he will see +what use I have made of my money, and he will know that I have done +this for his sake alone."... + +"Well, yes," he said, after thinking it over, "yes! That will be very +fine, that would be very fine indeed,--only, what are you going to +do, Varvara Alexievna?"--"Why, I shall not give anything."--"What!" +cried the old man almost in terror; "so you will not give Petinka +anything, so you do not wish to give him anything?" He was alarmed. At +that moment it seemed as though he were ready to relinquish his own +suggestions, so that I might have something to give his son. He was a +kind-hearted old man! I explained that I would be glad to give +something, only I did not wish to deprive him of the pleasure. + + * * * * * + +On the festive day he made his appearance at precisely eleven o'clock, +straight from the mass, in his dress coat, decently patched, and +actually in a new waistcoat and new boots. We were all sitting in the +hall with Anna Feodorovna, and drinking coffee (it was Sunday). The +old man began, I believe, by saying that Pushkin was a good poet; then +he lost the thread of his discourse and got confused, and suddenly +jumped to the assertion that a man must behave well, and that if he +does not behave himself well, then it simply means that he indulges +himself; he even cited several terrible examples of intemperance, and +wound up by stating that for some time past he had been entirely a +reformed character, and that he now behaved with perfect propriety. +That even earlier he had recognized the justice of his son's +exhortations, and had treasured them all in his heart, and had +actually begun to be sober. In proof of which he now presented these +books, which had been purchased with money which he had been hoarding +up for a long time. + +I could not refrain from tears and laughter, as I listened to the poor +old fellow; he knew well how to lie when the occasion demanded! The +books were taken to Pokrovsky's room and placed on the shelf. +Pokrovsky immediately divined the truth. + + * * * * * + +Pokrovsky fell ill, two months after the events which I have described +above. During those two months he had striven incessantly for the +means of existence, for up to that time he had never had a settled +position. Like all consumptives, he bade farewell only with his last +breath to the hope of a very long life.... Anna Feodorovna herself +made all the arrangements about the funeral. She bought the very +plainest sort of a coffin, and hired a truckman. In order to repay +herself for her expenditure, Anna Feodorovna took possession of all +the dead man's books and effects. The old man wrangled with her, +raised an uproar, snatched from her as many books as possible, stuffed +all his pockets with them, thrust them into his hat and wherever he +could, carried them about with him all the three days which preceded +the funeral, and did not even part with them when the time came to go +to the church. During all those days he was like a man stunned, who +has lost his memory, and he kept fussing about near the coffin with a +certain strange anxiety; now he adjusted the paper band upon the dead +man's brow, now he lighted and snuffed the candles. It was evident +that he could not fix his thoughts in orderly manner on anything. +Neither my mother nor Anna Feodorovna went to the funeral services in +the church. My mother was ill, but Anna Feodorovna quarreled with old +Pokrovsky just as she was all ready to start, and so stayed away. The +old man and I were the only persons present. A sort of fear came over +me during the services--like the presentiment of something which was +about to happen. I could hardly stand out the ceremony in church. At +last they put the lid on the coffin and nailed it down, placed it on +the cart and drove away. I accompanied it only to the end of the +street. The truckman drove at a trot. The old man ran after the cart, +weeping aloud; the sound of his crying was broken and shaken by his +running. The poor man lost his hat and did not stop to pick it up. His +head was wet with the rain; the sleet lashed and cut his face. The old +man did not appear to feel the bad weather, but ran weeping from one +side of the cart to the other. The skirts of his shabby old coat waved +in the wind like wings. Books protruded from every one of his pockets; +in his hands was a huge book, which he held tightly clutched. The +passers-by removed their hats and made the sign of the cross. Some +halted and stared in amazement at the poor old man. Every moment the +books kept falling out of his pockets into the mud, People stopped +him, and pointed out his losses to him; he picked them up, and set out +again in pursuit of the coffin. At the corner of the street an old +beggar woman joined herself to him to escort the coffin. At last the +cart turned the corner, and disappeared from my eyes. I went home, I +flung myself, in dreadful grief, on my mother's bosom. + + + +LETTER FROM MAKAR DYEVUSHKIN TO VARVARA ALEXIEVNA DOBROSYELOFF + + + SEPTEMBER 9TH. + +_My dear Varvara Alexievna!_ + +I am quite beside myself as I write this. I am utterly upset by a most +terrible occurrence. My head is whirling. I feel as though everything +were turning in dizzy circles round about me. Ah, my dearest, what a +thing I have to tell you now! We had not even a presentiment of such a +thing. No, I don't believe that I did not have a presentiment--I +foresaw it all. My heart forewarned me of this whole thing! I even +dreamed of something like it not long ago. + +This is what has happened! I will relate it to you without attempting +fine style, and as the Lord shall put it into my soul. I went to the +office to-day. When I arrived, I sat down and began to write. But you +must know, my dear, that I wrote yesterday also. Well, yesterday +Timofei Ivan'itch came to me, and was pleased to give me a personal +order. "Here's a document that is much needed," says he, "and we're in +a hurry for it. Copy it, Makar Alexievitch," says he, "as quickly and +as neatly and carefully as possible: it must be handed in for +signature to-day." I must explain to you, my angel, that I was not +quite myself yesterday, and didn't wish to look at anything; such +sadness and depression had fallen upon me! My heart was cold, my mind +was dark; you filled all my memory, and incessantly, my poor darling. +Well, so I set to work on the copy; I wrote clearly and well, only,--I +don't know exactly how to describe it to you, whether the Evil One +himself tangled me up, or whether it was decreed by some mysterious +fate, or simply whether it was bound to happen so, but I omitted a +whole line, and the sense was utterly ruined. The Lord only knows what +sense there was--simply none whatever. They were late with the papers +yesterday, so they only gave this document to his Excellency for +signature this morning. To-day I presented myself at the usual hour, +as though nothing at all were the matter, and set myself down +alongside Emelyan Ivanovitch. + +I must tell you, my dear, that lately I have become twice as +shamefaced as before, and more mortified. Of late I have ceased to +look at any one. As soon as any one's chair squeaks, I am more dead +than alive. So to-day I crept in, slipped humbly into my seat, and +sat there all doubled up, so that Efim Akimovitch (he's the greatest +tease in the world) remarked in such a way that all could hear him, +"Why do you sit so like a y-y-y, Makar Alexievitch?" Then he made such +a grimace that everybody round him and me split with laughter, and of +course at my expense. They kept it up interminably! I drooped my ears +and screwed up my eyes, and sat there motionless. That's my way; they +stop the quicker. All at once I heard a noise, a running and a tumult; +I heard--did my ears deceive me? They were calling for me, demanding +me, summoning Dyevushkin. My heart quivered in my breast, and I didn't +know myself what I feared, for nothing of the sort had ever happened +to me in the whole course of my life. I was rooted to my chair,--as +though nothing had occurred, as though it were not I. But then they +began again, nearer at hand, and nearer still. And here they were, +right in my very ear: "Dyevushkin! Dyevushkin!" they called; "where's +Dyevushkin?" I raise my eyes, and there before me stands Evstafiy +Ivanovitch; he says:--"Makar Alexievitch, hasten to his Excellency as +quickly as possible! You've made a nice mess with that document!" + +That was all he said, but it was enough, wasn't it, my dear,--quite +enough to say? I turned livid, and grew as cold as ice, and lost my +senses; I started, and I simply didn't know whether I was alive or +dead as I went. They led me through one room, and through another +room, and through a third room, to the private office, and I presented +myself! Positively, I cannot give you any account of what I was +thinking about. I saw his Excellency standing there, with all of them +around him. It appears that I did not make my salute; I forgot it +completely. I was so scared that my lips trembled and my legs shook. +And there was sufficient cause, my dear. In the first place, I was +ashamed of myself; I glanced to the right, at a mirror, and what I +beheld therein was enough to drive any man out of his senses. And in +the second place, I have always behaved as though there were no place +for me in the world. So that it is not likely that his Excellency was +even aware of my existence. It is possible that he may have heard it +cursorily mentioned that there was a person named Dyevushkin in the +department, but he had never come into any closer relations. + +He began angrily, "What's the meaning of this, sir? What are you +staring at? Here's an important paper, needed in haste, and you go +and spoil it. And how did you come to permit such a thing?" Here his +Excellency turned on Evstafiy Ivanovitch. I only listen, and the +sounds of the words reach me: "It's gross carelessness. Heedlessness! +You'll get yourself into trouble!" I tried to open my mouth for some +purpose or other. I seemed to want to ask forgiveness, but I couldn't; +to run away, but I didn't dare to make the attempt: and then--then, my +dearest, something so dreadful happened that I can hardly hold my pen +even now for the shame of it. My button--deuce take it--my button, +which was hanging by a thread, suddenly broke loose, jumped off, +skipped along (evidently I had struck it by accident), clattered and +rolled away, the cursed thing, straight to his Excellency's feet, and +that in the midst of universal silence. And that was the whole of my +justification, all my excuse, all my answer, everything which I was +preparing to say to his Excellency! + +The results were terrible! His Excellency immediately directed his +attention to my figure and my costume. I remembered what I had seen in +the mirror; I flew to catch the button! A fit of madness descended +upon me! I bent down and tried to grasp the button, but it rolled and +twisted, and I couldn't get hold of it, in short, and I also +distinguished myself in the matter of dexterity. Then I felt my last +strength fail me, and knew that all, all was lost! My whole reputation +was lost, the whole man ruined! And then, without rhyme or reason, +Teresa and Faldoni began to ring in both my ears. At last I succeeded +in seizing the button, rose upright, drew myself up in proper salute, +but like a fool, and stood calmly there with my hands lined down on +the seams of my trousers! No, I didn't, though. I began to try to fit +the button on the broken thread, just as though it would stick fast by +that means; and moreover, I began to smile and went on smiling. + +At first his Excellency turned away; then he scrutinized me again, and +I heard him say to Evstafiy Ivanovitch:--"How's this? See what a +condition he is in! What a looking man! What's the matter with him?" +Ah, my own dearest, think of that--"What a looking man!" and "What's +the matter with him!"--"He has distinguished himself!" I heard +Evstafiy say; "he has no bad marks, no bad marks on any score, and his +conduct is exemplary; his salary is adequate, in accordance with the +rates." "Well then, give him some sort of assistance," says his +Excellency; "make him an advance on his salary."--"But he has had it, +he has taken it already, for ever so long in advance. Probably +circumstances have compelled him to do so; but his conduct is good, +and he has received no reprimands, he has never been rebuked." My dear +little angel, I turned hot and burned as though in the fires of the +bad place! I was on the point of fainting. "Well," says his Excellency +in a loud voice, "the document must be copied again as quickly as +possible; come here, Dyevushkin, make a fresh copy without errors; and +listen to me;" here his Excellency turned to the others and gave them +divers orders, and sent them all away. As soon as they were all gone, +his Excellency hastily took out his pocket-book, and from it drew a +hundred-ruble bank-note. "Here," said he, "this is all I can afford, +and I am happy to help to that extent; reckon it as you please, take +it,"--and he thrust it into my hand. I trembled, my angel, my whole +soul was in a flutter; I didn't know what was the matter with me; I +tried to catch his hand and kiss it. But he turned very red in the +face, my darling, and--I am not deviating from the truth by so much as +a hair's-breadth--he took my unworthy hand, and shook it, indeed he +did; he took it and shook it as though it were of equal rank with his +own, as though it belonged to a General like himself. "Go," says he; +"I am glad to do what I can. Make no mistakes, but now do it as well +as you can." + +Now, my dear, this is what I have decided: I beg you and Feodor--and +if I had children I would lay my commands upon them--to pray to God +for him; though they should not pray for their own father, that they +should pray daily and forever, for his Excellency! One thing more I +will say, my dearest, and I say it solemnly,--heed me well, my +dear,--I swear that, no matter in what degree I may be reduced to +spiritual anguish in the cruel days of our adversity, as I look on you +and your poverty, on myself, on my humiliation and incapacity,--in +spite of all this, I swear to you that the hundred rubles are not so +precious to me as the fact that his Excellency himself deigned to +press my unworthy hand, the hand of a straw, a drunkard! Thereby he +restored my self-respect. By that deed he brought to life again my +spirit, he made my existence sweeter forevermore, and I am firmly +convinced that, however sinful I may be in the sight of the Almighty, +yet my prayer for the happiness and prosperity of his Excellency will +reach his throne! + +My dearest, I am at present in the most terrible state of spiritual +prostration, in a horribly overwrought condition. My heart beats as +though it would burst out of my breast, and I seem to be weak all +over. I send you forty-five rubles, paper money. I shall give twenty +rubles to my landlady, and keep thirty-five for myself; with twenty I +will get proper clothes, and the other fifteen will go for my living +expenses. But just now all the impressions of this morning have shaken +my whole being to the foundations. I am going to lie down for a bit. +Nevertheless, I am calm, perfectly calm. Only, my soul aches, and down +there, in the depths, my soul is trembling and throbbing and +quivering. I shall go to see you; but just now I am simply intoxicated +with all these emotions. God sees all, my dearest, my own darling, my +precious one. + + Your worthy friend, + MAKAR DYEVUSHKIN. + + Translation of Isabel F. Hapgood. + + + +THE BIBLE READING + +From 'Crime and Punishment' + + +Raskolnikoff went straight to the water-side, where Sonia was living. +The three-storied house was an old building, painted green. The young +man had some difficulty in finding the dvornik, and got from him vague +information about the quarters of the tailor Kapernasumoff. After +having discovered in a corner of the yard the foot of a steep and +gloomy staircase, he ascended to the second floor, and followed the +gallery facing the court-yard. Whilst groping in the dark, and asking +himself how Kapernasumoff's lodgings could be reached, a door opened +close to him; he seized it mechanically. + +"Who is there?" asked a timid female voice. + +"It is I. I am coming to see you," replied Raskolnikoff, on entering a +small ante-room. There on a wretched table stood a candle, fixed in a +candlestick of twisted metal. + +"Is that you? Good heavens!" feebly replied Sonia, who seemed not to +have strength enough to move from the spot. + +"Where do you live? Is it here?" And Raskolnikoff passed quickly into +the room, trying not to look the girl in the face. + +A moment afterwards Sonia rejoined him with the candle, and remained +stock still before him, a prey to an indescribable agitation. This +unexpected visit had upset her--nay, even frightened her. All of a +sudden her pale face colored up, and tears came into her eyes. She +experienced extreme confusion, united with a certain gentle feeling. +Raskolnikoff turned aside with a rapid movement and sat down on a +chair, close to the table. In the twinkling of an eye he took stock of +everything in the room. + +This room was large, with a very low ceiling, and was the only one let +out by the Kapernasumoffs; in the wall, on the left-hand side, was a +door giving access to theirs. On the opposite side, in the wall on the +right, there was another door, which was always locked. That was +another lodging, having another number. Sonia's room was more like an +out-house, of irregular rectangular shape, which gave it an uncommon +character. The wall, with its three windows facing the canal, cut it +obliquely, forming thus an extremely acute angle, in the back portion +of which nothing could be seen, considering the feeble light of the +candle. On the other hand, the other angle was an extremely obtuse +one. This large room contained scarcely any furniture. In the +right-hand corner was the bed; between the bed and the door, a chair; +on the same side, facing the door of the next set, stood a deal table, +covered with a blue cloth; close to the table were two rush chairs. +Against the opposite wall, near the acute angle, was placed a small +chest of drawers of unvarnished wood, which seemed out of place in +this vacant spot. This was the whole of the furniture. The yellowish +and worn paper had everywhere assumed a darkish color, probably the +effect of the damp and coal smoke. Everything in the place denoted +poverty. Even the bed had no curtains. Sonia silently considered the +visitor, who examined her room so attentively and so unceremoniously. + + * * * * * + +"Her lot is fixed," thought he,--"a watery grave, the mad-house, or a +brutish existence!" This latter contingency was especially repellent +to him, but skeptic as he was, he could not help believing it a +possibility. "Is it possible that such is really the case?" he asked +himself. "Is it possible that this creature, who still retains a pure +mind, should end by becoming deliberately mire-like? Has she not +already become familiar with it, and if up to the present she has been +able to bear with such a life, has it not been so because vice has +already lost its hideousness in her eyes? Impossible again!" cried he, +on his part, in the same way as Sonia had cried a moment ago. "No, +that which up to the present has prevented her from throwing herself +into the canal has been the fear of sin and its punishment. May she +not be mad after all? Who says she is not so? Is she in full +possession of all her faculties? Is it possible to speak as she does? +Do people of sound judgment reason as she reasons? Can people +anticipate future destruction with such tranquillity, turning a deaf +ear to warnings and forebodings? Does she expect a miracle? It must be +so. And does not all this seem like signs of mental derangement?" + +To this idea he clung obstinately. Sonia mad! Such a prospect +displeased him less than the other ones. Once more he examined the +girl attentively. "And you--you often pray to God, Sonia?" he asked +her. + +No answer. Standing by her side, he waited for a reply. "What could I +be, what should I be without God?" cried she in a low-toned but +energetic voice, and whilst casting on Raskolnikoff a rapid glance of +her brilliant eyes, she gripped his hand. + +"Come, I was not mistaken!" he muttered to himself.--"And what does +God do for you?" asked he, anxious to clear his doubts yet more. + +For a long time the girl remained silent, as if incapable of reply. +Emotion made her bosom heave. "Stay! Do not question me! You have no +such right!" exclaimed she, all of a sudden, with looks of anger. + +"I expected as much!" was the man's thought. + +"God does everything for me!" murmured the girl rapidly, and her eyes +sank. + +"At last I have the explanation!" he finished mentally, whilst eagerly +looking at her. + +He experienced a new, strange, almost unhealthy feeling on watching +this pale, thin, hard-featured face, these blue and soft eyes which +could yet dart such lights and give utterance to such passion; in a +word, this feeble frame, yet trembling with indignation and anger, +struck him as weird,--nay, almost fantastic. "Mad! she must be mad!" +he muttered once more. A book was lying on the chest of drawers. +Raskolnikoff had noticed it more than once whilst moving about the +room. He took it and examined it. It was a Russian translation of the +Gospels, a well-thumbed leather-bound book. + +"Where does that come from?" asked he of Sonia, from the other end of +the room. + +The girl still held the same position, a pace or two from the table. +"It was lent me," replied Sonia, somewhat loth, without looking at +Raskolnikoff. + +"Who lent it you?" + +"Elizabeth--I asked her to!" + +"Elizabeth. How strange!" he thought. Everything with Sonia assumed to +his mind an increasingly extraordinary aspect. He took the book to the +light, and turned it over. "Where is mention made of Lazarus?" asked +he abruptly. + +Sonia, looking hard on the ground, preserved silence, whilst moving +somewhat from the table. + +"Where is mention made of the resurrection of Lazarus? Find me the +passage, Sonia." + +The latter looked askance at her interlocutor. "That is not the +place--it is the Fourth Gospel," said she dryly, without moving from +the spot. + +"Find me the passage and read it out!" he repeated, and sitting down +again rested his elbow on the table, his head on his hand, and +glancing sideways with gloomy look, prepared to listen. + +Sonia at first hesitated to draw nearer to the table. The singular +wish uttered by Raskolnikoff scarcely seemed sincere. Nevertheless she +took the book. "Have you ever read the passage?" she asked him, +looking at him from out the corners of her eyes. Her voice was getting +harder and harder. + +"Once upon a time. In my childhood. Read!" + +"Have you never heard it in church?" + +"I--I never go there. Do you go often yourself?" + +"No," stammered Sonia. + +Raskolnikoff smiled. "I understand, then, you won't go tomorrow to +your father's funeral service?" + +"Oh, yes! I was at church last week. I was present at a requiem mass." + +"Whose was that?" + +"Elizabeth's. She was assassinated by means of an axe." + +Raskolnikoff's nervous system became more and more irritated. He was +getting giddy. "Were you friends with her?" + +"Yes. She was straightforward. She used to come and see me--but not +often. She was not able. We used to read and chat. She sees God." + +Raskolnikoff became thoughtful. "What," asked he himself, "could be +the meaning of the mysterious interviews of two such idiots as Sonia +and Elizabeth? Why, I should go mad here myself!" thought he. "Madness +seems to be in the atmosphere of the place!--Read!" he cried all of a +sudden, irritably. + +Sonia kept hesitating. Her heart beat loud. She seemed afraid to read. +He considered "this poor demented creature" with an almost sad +expression. "How can that interest you, since you do not believe?" she +muttered in a choking voice. + +"Read! I insist upon it! Used you not to read to Elizabeth?" + +Sonia opened the book and looked for the passage. Her hands trembled. +The words stuck in her throat. Twice did she try to read without being +able to utter the first syllable. + +"Now a certain man was sick, named Lazarus, of Bethany," she read, at +last, with an effort; but suddenly, at the third word, her voice grew +wheezy, and gave way like an overstretched chord. Breath was deficient +in her oppressed bosom. Raskolnikoff partly explained to himself +Sonia's hesitation to obey him; and in proportion as he understood her +better, he insisted still more imperiously on her reading. He felt +what it must cost the girl to lay bare to him, to some extent, her +heart of hearts. She evidently could not, without difficulty, make up +her mind to confide to a stranger the sentiments which probably since +her teens had been her support, her _viaticum_--when, what with a +sottish father and a stepmother demented by misfortune, to say nothing +of starving children, she heard nothing but reproach and offensive +clamor. He saw all this, but he likewise saw that notwithstanding this +repugnance, she was most anxious to read,--to read to him, and that +now,--let the consequences be what they may! The girl's look, the +agitation to which she was a prey, told him as much, and by a violent +effort over herself Sonia conquered the spasm which parched her +throat, and continued to read the eleventh chapter of the Gospel +according to St. John. She thus reached the nineteenth verse:-- + + "And many of the Jews came to Martha and Mary, to comfort + them concerning their brother. Then Martha, as soon as she + heard that Jesus was coming, went and met him; but Mary sat + still in the house. Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if + thou hadst been here, my brother had not died. But I know + that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will + give it thee." + +Here she paused, to overcome the emotion which once more caused her +voice to tremble. + + "Jesus saith unto her, Thy brother shall rise again. Martha + saith unto him, I know that he shall rise again in the + resurrection at the last day. Jesus said unto her, I am the + Resurrection and the Life; he that believeth in me, though + he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and + believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this? She + saith unto him,"-- + +and although she had difficulty in breathing, Sonia raised her voice, +as if in reading the words of Martha she was making her own confession +of faith:-- + + "Yea, Lord: I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of + God, which should come into the world." + +She stopped, raised her eyes rapidly on him, but cast them down on her +book, and continued to read. Raskolnikoff listened without stirring, +without turning toward her, his elbows resting on the table, looking +aside. Thus the reading continued till the thirty-second verse. + + "Then when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw him, she + fell down at his feet, saying unto him, Lord, if thou hadst + been here, my brother had not died. When Jesus therefore saw + her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with her, + he groaned in the spirit and was troubled, and said, Where + have ye laid him? They said unto him, Lord, come and see. + Jesus wept. Then said the Jews, Behold how he loved him. And + some of them said, Could not this man, which opened the eyes + of the blind, have caused that even this man should not have + died?" + +Raskolnikoff turned towards her and looked at her with agitation. His +suspicion was a correct one. She was trembling in all her limbs, a +prey to fever. He had expected this. She was getting to the miraculous +story, and a feeling of triumph was taking possession of her. Her +voice, strengthened by joy, had a metallic ring. The lines became +misty to her troubled eyes, but fortunately she knew the passage by +heart. At the last line, "Could not this man, which opened the eyes of +the blind--" she lowered her voice, emphasizing passionately the +doubt, the blame, the reproach of these unbelieving and blind Jews, +who a moment after fell as if struck by lightning on their knees, to +sob and to believe. "Yes," thought she, deeply affected by this +joyful hope, "yes, he--he who is blind, who dares not believe--he also +will hear--will believe in an instant, immediately, now, this very +moment!" + + "Jesus therefore, again groaning in himself, cometh to the + grave. It was a cave, and a stone lay upon it. Jesus said, + Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of him that was + dead, saith unto him, Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he + hath been dead four days." + +She strongly emphasized the word _four_. + + "Jesus saith unto her. Said I not unto thee, that if thou + wouldst believe, thou shouldst see the glory of God? Then + they took away the stone from the place where the dead was + laid. And Jesus lifted up his eyes, and said, Father, I + thank thee that thou hast heard me. And I knew that thou + hearest me always; but because of the people which stand by + I said it, that they may believe that thou hast sent me. And + when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, + Lazarus, come forth. _And he that was dead came forth,_"-- + +(on reading these words Sonia shuddered, as if she herself had been +witness to the miracle) + + "bound hand and foot with grave-clothes; and his face was + bound about with a napkin. Jesus saith unto them, Loose him, + and let him go. _Then many of the Jews which came to Mary, + and had seen the things which Jesus did, believed on him._" + +She read no more,--such a thing would have been impossible to +her,--closed the book, and briskly rising, said in a low-toned and +choking voice, without turning toward the man she was talking to, "So +much for the resurrection of Lazarus." She seemed afraid to raise her +eyes on Raskolnikoff, whilst her feverish trembling continued. The +dying piece of candle dimly lit up this low-ceiled room, in which an +assassin and a harlot had just read the Book of books. + + + + +EDWARD DOWDEN + +(1843-) + + +"We are all hunters, skillful or skilless, in literature--hunters for +our spiritual good or for our pleasure," says Edward Dowden; and to +his earnest research and careful exposition many readers owe a more +thorough appreciation of literature. He was educated at Queen's +College, Cork (his birthplace), and then at Trinity College, Dublin, +where he received the Vice-Chancellor's prize in both English verse +and English prose, and also the first English Moderatorship in logic +and ethics. For two years he studied divinity. Then he obtained by +examination a professorship of oratory at the University of Dublin, +where he was afterwards elected professor of English literature. The +scholarship of his literary work has won him many honors. In 1888 he +was chosen president of the English Goethe Society, to succeed +Professor Müller. The following year he was appointed first Taylorian +lecturer in the Taylor Institute, Oxford. The Royal Irish Academy has +bestowed the Cunningham gold medal upon him, and he has also received +the honorary degree LL. D. of the University of Edinburgh, and from +Princeton University. + +Very early in life Professor Dowden began to express his feeling for +literature, and the instinct which leads him to account for a work by +study of its author's personality. For more than twenty years English +readers have known him as a frequent contributor of critical essays to +the leading reviews. These have been collected into the delightful +volumes 'Studies in Literature' and 'Transcripts and Studies.' His has +been called "an honest method, wholesome as sweet." He would offer +more than a mere résumé of what his author expresses. He would be one +of the interpreters and transmitters of new forms of thought to the +masses of readers who lack time or ability to discover values for +themselves. Very widely read himself, he is fitted for just +comparisons and comprehensive views. As has been pointed out, he is +fond of working from a general consideration of a period with its +formative influences, to the particular care of the author with whom +he is dealing. Saintsbury tells us that Mr. Dowden's procedure is to +ask his author a series of questions which seem to him of vital +importance, and find out how he would answer them. + +Dowden's style is careful, clear, and thorough, showing his +scholarship and incisive thought. His form of expression is strongly +picturesque. It is nowhere more so than in 'Shakespeare: a Study of +His Mind and Art.' This, his most noteworthy work, has been very +widely read and admired. His intimate acquaintance with German +criticism upon the great Elizabethan especially fitted him to present +fresh considerations to the public. + +He has also written a brilliant 'Life of Shelley' (bitterly criticized +by Mark Twain in the North American Review, 'A Defense of Harriet +Shelley'), and a 'Life of Southey' in the English Men of Letters +Series; and edited most capably 'Southey's Correspondence with +Caroline Bowles,' 'The Correspondence of Sir Henry Taylor,' +'Shakespeare's Sonnets,' 'The Passionate Pilgrim,' and a collection +of 'Lyrical Ballads.' + + + +THE HUMOR OF SHAKESPEARE + +From 'Shakespeare: a Critical Study of His Mind and Art' + + +A study of Shakespeare which fails to take account of Shakespeare's +humor must remain essentially incomplete. The character and spiritual +history of a man who is endowed with a capacity for humorous +appreciation of the world must differ throughout, and in every +particular, from that of the man whose moral nature has never rippled +over with genial laughter. At whatever final issue Shakespeare arrived +after long spiritual travail as to the attainment of his life, that +precise issue, rather than another, was arrived at in part by virtue +of the fact of Shakespeare's humor. In the composition of forces which +determined the orbit traversed by the mind of the poet, this must be +allowed for as a force among others, in importance not the least, and +efficient at all times even when little apparent. A man whose visage +"holds one stern intent" from day to day, and whose joy becomes at +times almost a supernatural rapture, may descend through circles of +hell to the narrowest and the lowest; he may mount from sphere to +sphere of Paradise until he stands within the light of the Divine +Majesty; but he will hardly succeed in presenting us with an adequate +image of life as it is on this earth of ours, in its oceanic amplitude +and variety. A few men of genius there have been, who with vision +penetrative as lightning have gazed as it were _through_ life, at some +eternal significances of which life is the symbol. Intent upon its +sacred meaning, they have had no eye to note the forms of the +grotesque hieroglyph of human existence. Such men are not framed for +laughter. To this little group the creator of Falstaff, of Bottom, and +of Touchstone does not belong. + +Shakespeare, who saw life more widely and wisely than any other of the +seers, could laugh. That is a comfortable fact to bear in mind; a fact +which serves to rescue us from the domination of intense and narrow +natures, who claim authority by virtue of their grasp of one-half of +the realities of our existence and their denial of the rest. +Shakespeare could laugh. But we must go on to ask, "What did he laugh +at? and what was the manner of his laughter?" There are as many modes +of laughter as there are facets of the common soul of humanity, to +reflect the humorous appearances of the world. Hogarth, in one of his +pieces of coarse yet subtile engraving, has presented a group of +occupants of the pit of a theatre, sketched during the performance of +some broad comedy or farce. What proceeds upon the stage is invisible +and undiscoverable, save as we catch its reflection on the faces of +the spectators, in the same way that we infer a sunset from the +evening flame upon windows that front the west. Each laughing face in +Hogarth's print exhibits a different mode or a different stage of the +risible paroxysm. There is the habitual enjoyer of the broad comic, +abandoned to his mirth, which is open and unashamed; mirth which he is +evidently a match for, and able to sustain. By his side is a companion +female portrait--a woman with head thrown back to ease the violence of +the guffaw; all her loose redundant flesh is tickled into an orgasm of +merriment; she is fairly overcome. On the other side sits the +spectator who has passed the climax of his laughter; he wipes the +tears from his eyes, and is on the way to regain an insecure and +temporary composure. Below appears a girl of eighteen or twenty, whose +vacancy of intellect is captured and occupied by the innocuous folly +still in progress; she gazes on expectantly, assured that a new +blossom of the wonder of absurdity is about to display itself. Her +father, a man who does not often surrender himself to an indecent +convulsion, leans his face upon his hand, and with the other steadies +himself by grasping one of the iron spikes that inclose the orchestra. +In the right corner sits the humorist, whose eyes, around which the +wrinkles gather, are half closed, while he already goes over the jest +a second time in his imagination. At the opposite side an elderly +woman is seen, past the period when animal violences are possible, +laughing because she knows there is something to laugh at, though she +is too dull-witted to know precisely what. One spectator, as we guess +from his introverted air, is laughing to think what somebody else +would think of this. Finally, the thin-lipped, perk-nosed person of +refinement looks aside, and by his critical indifference condemns the +broad, injudicious mirth of the company. + +All these laughers of Hogarth are very commonplace, and some are very +vulgar persons; one trivial, ludicrous spectacle is the occasion of +their mirth. When from such laughter as this we turn to the laughter +of men of genius, who gaze at the total play of the world's life; and +when we listen to this, as with the ages it goes on gathering and +swelling, our sense of hearing is enveloped and almost annihilated by +the chorus of mock and jest, of antic and buffoonery, of tender mirth +and indignant satire, of monstrous burlesque and sly absurdity, of +desperate misanthropic derision and genial affectionate caressing of +human imperfection and human folly. We hear from behind the mask the +enormous laughter of Aristophanes, ascending peal above peal until it +passes into jubilant ecstasy, or from the uproar springs some +exquisite lyric strain. We hear laughter of passionate indignation +from Juvenal, the indignation of "the ancient and free soul of the +dead republics." And there is Rabelais, with his huge buffoonery, and +the earnest eyes intent on freedom, which look out at us in the midst +of the zany's tumblings and indecencies. And Cervantes, with his +refined Castilian air and deep melancholy mirth, at odds with the +enthusiasm which is dearest to his soul. And Molière, with his +laughter of unerring good sense, undeluded by fashion or vanity or +folly or hypocrisy, and brightly mocking these into modesty. And +Milton, with his fierce objurgatory laughter,--Elijah-like insult +against the enemies of freedom and of England. And Voltaire, with his +quick intellectual scorn and eager malice of the brain. And there is +the urbane and amiable play of Addison's invention, not capable of +large achievement, but stirring the corners of the mouth with a humane +smile,--gracious gayety for the breakfast-tables of England. And +Fielding's careless mastery of the whole broad common field of mirth. +And Sterne's exquisite curiosity of oddness, his subtile extravagances +and humors prepense. And there is the tragic laughter of Swift, which +announces the extinction of reason, and loss beyond recovery of human +faith and charity and hope. How in this chorus of laughters, joyous +and terrible, is the laughter of Shakespeare distinguishable? + +In the first place, the humor of Shakespeare, like his total genius, +is many-sided. He does not pledge himself as dramatist to any one view +of human life. If we open a novel by Charles Dickens, we feel assured +beforehand that we are condemned to an exuberance of philanthropy; we +know how the writer will insist that we must all be good friends, all +be men and brothers, intoxicated with the delight of one another's +presence; we expect him to hold out the right hand of fellowship to +man, woman, and child; we are prepared for the bacchanalia of +benevolence. The lesson we have to learn from this teacher is, that +with the exception of a few inevitable and incredible monsters of +cruelty, every man naturally engendered of the offspring of Adam is of +his own nature inclined to every amiable virtue, Shakespeare abounds +in kindly mirth: he receives an exquisite pleasure from the alert wit +and bright good sense of a Rosalind; he can dandle a fool as tenderly +as any nurse qualified to take a baby from the birth can deal with her +charge. But Shakespeare is not pledged to deep-dyed ultra-amiability. +With Jacques, he can rail at the world while remaining curiously aloof +from all deep concern about its interests, this way or that. With +Timon he can turn upon the world with a rage no less than that of +Swift, and discover in man and woman a creature as abominable as the +Yahoo. In other words, the humor of Shakespeare, like his total +genius, is dramatic. + +Then again, although Shakespeare laughs incomparably, mere laughter +wearies him. The only play of Shakespeare's, out of nearly forty, +which is farcical,--'The Comedy of Errors,'--was written in the poet's +earliest period of authorship, and was formed upon the suggestion of a +preceding piece. It has been observed with truth by Gervinus that the +farcical incidents of this play have been connected by Shakespeare +with a tragic background, which is probably his own invention. With +beauty, or with pathos, or with thought, Shakespeare can mingle his +mirth; and then he is happy, and knows how to deal with play of wit or +humorous characterization; but an entirely comic subject somewhat +disconcerts the poet. On this ground, if no other were forthcoming, it +might be suspected that 'The Taming of the Shrew' was not altogether +the work of Shakespeare's hand. The secondary intrigues and minor +incidents were of little interest to the poet. But in the buoyant +force of Petruchio's character, in his subduing tempest of high +spirits, and in the person of the foiled revoltress against the law of +sex, who carries into her wifely loyalty the same energy which she had +shown in her virgin _sauvagerie_, there were elements of human +character in which the imagination of the poet took delight. + +Unless it be its own excess, however, Shakespeare's laughter seems to +fear nothing. It does not, when it has once arrived at its full +development, fear enthusiasm, or passion, or tragic intensity; nor do +these fear it. The traditions of the English drama had favored the +juxtaposition of the serious and comic: but it was reserved for +Shakespeare to make each a part of the other; to interpenetrate +tragedy with comedy, and comedy with tragic earnestness. + + + +SHAKESPEARE'S PORTRAITURE OF WOMEN + +From 'Transcripts and Studies' + + +Of all the daughters of his imagination, which did Shakespeare love +the best? Perhaps we shall not err if we say one of the latest born of +them all,--our English Imogen. And what most clearly shows us how +Shakespeare loved Imogen is this--he has given her faults, and has +made them exquisite, so that we love her better for their sake. No one +has so quick and keen a sensibility to whatever pains and to whatever +gladdens as she. To her a word is a blow; and as she is quick in her +sensibility, so she is quick in her perceptions, piercing at once +through the Queen's false show of friendship; quick in her contempt +for what is unworthy, as for all professions of love from the +clown-prince, Cloten; quick in her resentment, as when she discovers +the unjust suspicions of Posthumus. Wronged she is indeed by her +husband, but in her haste she too grows unjust; yet she is dearer to +us for the sake of this injustice, proceeding as it does from the +sensitiveness of her love. It is she, to whom a word is a blow, who +actually receives a buffet from her husband's hand; but for Imogen it +is a blessed stroke, since it is the evidence of his loyalty and zeal +on her behalf. In a moment he is forgiven, and her arms are round his +neck. + +Shakespeare made so many perfect women unhappy that he owed us some +_amende_. And he has made that _amende_ by letting us see one perfect +woman supremely happy. Shall our last glance at Shakespeare's plays +show us Florizel at the rustic merry-making, receiving blossoms from +the hands of Perdita? or Ferdinand and Miranda playing chess in +Prospero's cave, and winning one a king and one a queen, while the +happy fathers gaze in from the entrance of the cave? We can see a more +delightful sight than these--Imogen with her arms around the neck of +Posthumus, while she puts an edge upon her joy by the playful +challenge and mock reproach-- + + "Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? + Think that you are upon a rock, and now + Throw me again;" + +and he responds-- + + "Hang there like a fruit, my soul, + Till the tree die." + +We shall find in all Shakespeare no more blissful creatures than these +two. + + + +THE INTERPRETATION OF LITERATURE + +From 'Transcripts and Studies' + + +The happiest moment in a critic's hours of study is when, seemingly by +some divination, but really as the result of patient observation and +thought, he lights upon the central motive of a great work. Then, of a +sudden, order begins to form itself from the crowd and chaos of his +impressions and ideas. There is a moving hither and thither, a +grouping or coordinating of all his recent experiences, which goes on +of its own accord; and every instant his vision becomes clearer, and +new meanings disclose themselves in what had been lifeless and +unilluminated. It seems as if he could even stand by the artist's side +and co-operate with him in the process of creating. With such a sense +of joy upon him, the critic will think it no hard task to follow the +artist to the sources from whence he drew his material,--it may be +some dull chapter in an ancient chronicle, or some gross tale of +passion by an Italian novelist,--and he will stand by and watch with +exquisite pleasure the artist handling that crude material, and +refashioning and refining it, and breathing into it the breath of a +higher life. Even the minutest difference of text between an author's +earlier and later draft, or a first and second edition, has now become +a point not for dull commentatorship, but a point of life, at which he +may touch with his finger the pulse of the creator in his fervor of +creation. + +From each single work of a great author we advance to his total work, +and thence to the man himself,--to the heart and brain from which all +this manifold world of wisdom and wit and passion and beauty has +proceeded. Here again, before we address ourselves to the +interpretation of the author's mind, we patiently submit ourselves to +a vast series of impressions. And in accordance with Bacon's maxim +that a prudent interrogation is the half of knowledge, it is right to +provide ourselves with a number of well-considered questions which we +may address to our author. Let us cross-examine him as students of +mental and moral science, and find replies in his written words. Are +his senses vigorous and fine? Does he see color as well as form? Does +he delight in all that appeals to the sense of hearing--the voices of +nature, and the melody and harmonies of the art of man? Thus +Wordsworth, exquisitely organized for enjoying and interpreting all +natural, and if we may so say, homeless and primitive sounds, had but +little feeling for the delights of music. Can he enrich his poetry by +gifts from the sense of smell, as did Keats; or is his nose like +Wordsworth's, an idle promontory projecting into a desert air? Has he +like Browning a vigorous pleasure in all strenuous muscular movements; +or does he like Shelley live rapturously in the finest nervous +thrills? How does he experience and interpret the feeling of sex, and +in what parts of his entire nature does that feeling find its +elevating connections and associations? What are his special +intellectual powers? Is his intellect combative or contemplative? What +are the laws which chiefly preside over the associations of his ideas? +What are the emotions which he feels most strongly? and how do his +emotions coalesce with one another? Wonder, terror, awe, love, grief, +hope, despondency, the benevolent affections, admiration, the +religious sentiment, the moral sentiment, the emotion of power, +irascible emotion, ideal emotion--how do these make themselves felt in +and through his writings? What is his feeling for the beautiful, the +sublime, the ludicrous? Is he of weak or vigorous will? In the +conflict of motives, which class of motives with him is likely to +predominate? Is he framed to believe or framed to doubt? Is he +prudent, just, temperate, or the reverse of these? These and +such-like questions are not to be crudely and formally proposed, but +are to be used with tact; nor should the critic press for hard and +definite answers, but know how skillfully to glean its meaning from an +evasion. He is a dull cross-examiner who will invariably follow the +scheme which he has thought out and prepared beforehand, and who +cannot vary his questions to surprise or beguile the truth from an +unwilling witness. But the tact which comes from natural gift and from +experience may be well supported by something of method,--method well +hidden away from the surface and from sight. + +This may be termed the psychological method of study. But we may also +follow a more objective method. Taking the chief themes with which +literature and art are conversant--God, external nature, humanity--we +may inquire how our author has dealt with each of these. What is his +theology, or his philosophy of the universe? By which we mean no +abstract creed or doctrine, but the tides and currents of feeling and +of faith, as well as the tendencies and conclusions of the intellect. +Under what aspect has this goodly frame of things, in whose midst we +are, revealed itself to him? How has he regarded and interpreted the +life of man? Under each of these great themes a multitude of +subordinate topics are included. And alike in this and in what we have +termed the psychological method of study, we shall gain double results +if we examine a writer's works in the order of their chronology, and +thus become acquainted with the growth and development of his powers, +and the widening and deepening of his relations with man, with +external nature, and with that Supreme Power, unknown yet well known, +of which nature and man are the manifestation. As to the study of an +artist's technical qualities, this, by virtue of the fact that he is +an artist, is of capital importance; and it may often be associated +with the study of that which his technique is employed to express and +render--the characteristics of his mind, and of the vision which he +has attained of the external universe, of humanity, and of God. Of all +our study, the last end and aim should be to ascertain how a great +writer or artist has served the life of man; to ascertain this, to +bring home to ourselves as large a portion as may be of the gain +wherewith he has enriched human life, and to render access to that +store of wisdom, passion, and power, easier and surer for others. + + + + +A. CONAN DOYLE + +(1859-) + +[Illustration: A. CONAN DOYLE] + + +The author of 'The White Company,' 'The Great Shadow,' and 'Micah +Clarke' has been heard to lament the fact that his introduction to +American readers came chiefly through the good offices of his +accomplished friend "Sherlock Holmes." Dr. Doyle would prefer to be +judged by his more serious and laborious work, as it appears in his +historic romances. But he has found it useless to protest. 'The +Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' delighted a public which enjoys +incident, mystery, and above all that matching of the wits of a clever +man against the dumb resistance of the secrecy of inanimate things, +which results in the triumph of the human intelligence. Moreover, in +Sherlock Holmes himself the reader perceived a new character in +fiction. The inventors of the French detective story,--that ingenious +Chinese puzzle of literature,--have no such wizard as he to show. Even +Poe, past master of mystery-making, is more or less empirical in his +methods of mystery-solving. + +But Sherlock Holmes is a true product of his time. He is an embodiment +of the scientific spirit seeing microscopically and applying itself to +construct, from material vestiges and psychologic remainders, an +unknown body of proof. From the smallest fragments he deduces the +whole structure, precisely as the great naturalists do; and so +flawless are his reasonings that a course of 'The Adventures of +Sherlock Holmes' would not be bad training in a high-school class in +logic. + +The creator of this eminent personage was born in Edinburgh in 1859, +of a line of artists; his grandfather, John Doyle, having been a +famous political caricaturist, whose works, under the signature "H. +B.," were purchased at a high price by the British Museum. The quaint +signature of his father--a capital D, with a little bird perched on +top, gained him the affectionate sobriquet of "Dicky Doyle"; and Dicky +Doyle's house was the gathering-place of artists and authors, whose +talk served to decide the destiny of the lad Conan. For though he was +intended for the medical profession, and after studying in Germany had +kept his terms at the Medical College of Edinburgh University, the +love of letters drove him forth in his early twenties to try his +fortunes in the literary world of London. + +Inheriting from his artist ancestry a sense of form and color, a +faculty of constructiveness, and a vivid imagination, his studiousness +and his industry have turned his capacities into abilities. For his +romance of 'The White Company' he read more than two hundred books, +and spent on it more than two years of labor. 'Micah Clarke' and 'The +Great Shadow' involved equal wit and conscience. In his historic +fiction he has described the England of Edward III., of James II., and +of to-day, the Scotland of George III., the France of Edward III., of +Louis XIV., and of Napoleon, and the America of Frontenac; while, in +securing this correctness of historic detail, he has not neglected the +first duty of a story-teller, which is to be interesting. + + + +THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE + +From 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.' Copyright 1892, by Harper & +Brothers + + +I had called upon my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes one day in the autumn +of last year, and found him in deep conversation with a very stout, +florid-faced elderly gentleman, with fiery red hair. With an apology +for my intrusion I was about to withdraw, when Holmes pulled me +abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me. + +"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson," +he said, cordially. + +"I was afraid that you were engaged." + +"So I am. Very much so." + +"Then I can wait in the next room." + +"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and +helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that +he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also." + +The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of +greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small, +fat-encircled eyes. + +"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his arm-chair and +putting his finger-tips together, as was his custom when in judicial +moods. "I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is +bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of every-day +life. You have shown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has +prompted you to chronicle, and if you will excuse my saying so, +somewhat to embellish so many of my own little adventures." + +"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," I +observed. + +"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went +into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that +for strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life +itself, which is always far more daring than any effort of the +imagination." + +"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting." + +"You did, doctor; but none the less you must come round to my view, +for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you, until your +reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. Now, +Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this +morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to be one of the most +singular which I have listened to for some time. You have heard me +remark that the strangest and most unique things are very often +connected not with the larger but with the smaller crimes; and +occasionally, indeed, where there is room for doubt whether any +positive crime has been committed. As far as I have heard, it is +impossible for me to say whether the present case is an instance of +crime or not; but the course of events is certainly among the most +singular that I have ever listened to. Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would +have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. I ask you, not +merely because my friend Dr. Watson has not heard the opening part, +but also because the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to +have every possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have +heard some slight indication of the course of events, I am able to +guide myself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to my +memory. In the present instance I am forced to admit that the facts +are, to the best of my belief, unique." + +The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some +little pride, and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the +inside pocket of his great-coat. As he glanced down the advertisement +column, with his head thrust forward, and the paper flattened out upon +his knee, I took a good look at the man, and endeavored, after the +fashion of my companion, to read the indications which might be +presented by his dress or appearance. I did not gain very much, +however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore every mark of being an +average commonplace British tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He +wore rather baggy gray shepherd's-check trousers, a not over clean +black frock-coat unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat, with a +heavy brassy Albert chain and a square pierced bit of metal dangling +down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with +a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether, look +as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man save his +blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and discontent +upon his features. + +Sherlock Holmes's quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his +head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. "Beyond the +obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labor, that he +takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and +that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce +nothing else." + +Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the +paper, but his eyes upon my companion. + +"How in the name of good fortune did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?" +he asked. "How did you know, for example, that I did manual labor? +It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship's carpenter." + +"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than +your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more +developed." + +"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?" + +"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that; +especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use +an arc-and-compass breastpin." + +"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?" + +"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five +inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where +you rest it upon the desk?" + +"Well, but China?" + +"The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist +could only have been done in China. I have made a small study of +tattoo marks, and have even contributed to the literature of the +subject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales of a delicate pink +is quite peculiar to China. When in addition I see a Chinese coin +hanging from your watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simple." + +Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never!" said he. "I thought +at first that you had done something clever, but I see that there was +nothing in it, after all." + +"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a mistake in +explaining. 'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know, and my poor little +reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid. +Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?" + +"Yes, I have got it now," he answered, with his thick red finger +planted half-way down the column. "Here it is. This is what began it +all. You just read it for yourself, sir." + +I took the paper from him, and read as follows:-- + + "TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE:--On account of the bequest of the + late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pa., U.S.A., there is now + another vacancy open, which entitles a member of the League + to a salary of £4 a week for purely nominal services. All + red-headed men who are sound in body and mind, and above the + age of twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on + Monday, at eleven o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of + the League, 7 Pope's Court, Fleet Street." + +"What on earth does this mean?" I ejaculated, after I had twice read +over the extraordinary announcement. + +Holmes chuckled, and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in +high spirits. "It is a little off the beaten track, isn't it?" said +he. "And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch, and tell us all about +yourself, your household, and the effect which this advertisement had +upon your fortunes. You will first make a note, doctor, of the paper +and the date." + +"It is the Morning Chronicle of April 27th, 1890. Just two months +ago." + +"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?" + +"Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," +said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead: "I have a small pawnbroker's +business at Coburg Square, near the city. It's not a very large +affair, and of late years it has not done more than just give me a +living. I used to be able to keep two assistants, but now I only keep +one; and I would have a job to pay him, but that he is willing to +come for half wages, so as to learn the business." + +"What is the name of this obliging youth?" asked Sherlock Holmes. + +"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's not such a youth, either. +It's hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr. +Holmes; and I know very well that he could better himself, and earn +twice what I am able to give him. But after all, if he is satisfied, +why should I put ideas in his head?" + +"Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an _employé_ who comes +under the full market price. It is not a common experience among +employers in this age. I don't know that your assistant is not as +remarkable as your advertisement." + +"Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr. Wilson. "Never was such a +fellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to +be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a +rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. That is his main fault; +but on the whole, he's a good worker. There's no vice in him." + +"He is still with you, I presume?" + +"Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple +cooking, and keeps the place clean--that's all I have in the house, +for I am a widower, and never had any family. We live very quietly, +sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads, and pay our +debts, if we do nothing more. + +"The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding, he +came down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this very +paper in his hand, and he says:-- + +"'I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.' + +"'Why that?' I asks. + +"'Why,' says he, 'here's another vacancy on the League of the +Red-Headed Men. It's worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets +it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than there are men, +so that the trustees are at their wits' end what to do with the money. +If my hair would only change color, here's a nice little crib all +ready for me to step into.' + +"'Why, what is it, then?' I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a very +stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of my having +to go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting my foot over the +door-mat. In that way I didn't know much of what was going on +outside, and I was always glad of a bit of news. + +"'Have you never heard of the League of the Red-Headed Men?' he asked, +with his eyes open. + +"'Never.' + +"'Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of the +vacancies.' + +"'And what are they worth?' I asked. + +"'Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year; but the work is slight, and +it need not interfere very much with one's other occupations.' + +"Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for +the business has not been over good for some years, and an extra +couple of hundred would have been very handy. + +"'Tell me all about it,' said I. + +"'Well,' said he, showing me the advertisement, 'you can see for +yourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address where +you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out, the League +was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who was very +peculiar in his ways. He was himself red-headed, and he had a great +sympathy for all red-headed men; so when he died it was found that he +had left his enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with +instructions to apply the interest to the providing of easy berths to +men whose hair is of that color. From all I hear, it is splendid pay +and very little to do.' + +"'But,' said I, 'there would be millions of red-headed men who would +apply.' + +"'Not so many as you might think,' he answered. 'You see it is really +confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had started +from London when he was young, and he wanted to do the old town a good +turn. Then again, I have heard it is no use your applying if your hair +is light red, or dark red, or anything but real bright, blazing, fiery +red. Now if you care to apply, Mr. Wilson, you would just walk in; but +perhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put yourself out of the +way for the sake of a few hundred pounds.' + +"Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that my +hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that if +there was to be any competition in the matter, I stood as good a +chance as any man that I had ever met. Vincent Spaulding seemed to +know so much about it that I thought he might prove useful, so I just +ordered him to put up the shutters for the day, and to come right away +with me. He was very willing to have a holiday; so we shut the +business up, and started off for the address that was given us in the +advertisement. + +"I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From +north, south, east, and west, every man who had a shade of red in his +hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement. Fleet +Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope's Court looked like a +coster's orange-barrow. I should not have thought there were so many +in the whole country as were brought together by that single +advertisement. Every shade of color they were--straw, lemon, orange, +brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but as Spaulding said, there were +not many who had the real vivid flame-colored tint. When I saw how +many were waiting, I would have given it up in despair; but Spaulding +would not hear of it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed +and pulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up +to the steps which led to the office. There was a double stream upon +the stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back dejected; but +we wedged in as well as we could, and soon found ourselves in the +office." + +"Your experience has been a most entertaining one," remarked Holmes, +as his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of +snuff. "Pray continue your very interesting statement." + +"There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a +deal table, behind which sat a small man, with a head that was even +redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate as he came up, +and then he always managed to find some fault in them which would +disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easy +matter, after all. However, when our turn came, the little man was +much more favorable to me than to any of the others, and he closed the +door as we entered, so that he might have a private word with us. + +"'This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,' said my assistant, 'and he is willing to +fill a vacancy in the League.' + +"'And he is admirably suited for it,' the other answered. 'He has +every requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so fine.' +He took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and gazed at my +hair until I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he plunged forward, +wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my success. + +"'It would be injustice to hesitate,' said he. 'You will, however, I +am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.' With that he +seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until I yelled with the +pain. 'There is water in your eyes,' said he, as he released me. 'I +perceive that all is as it should be. But we have to be careful, for +we have twice been deceived by wigs and once by paint. I could tell +you tales of cobbler's wax which would disgust you with human nature.' +He stepped over to the window, and shouted through it at the top of +his voice that the vacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment came +up from below, and the folk all trooped away in different directions, +until there was not a red head to be seen except my own and that of +the manager. + +"'My name,' said he, 'is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of the +pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you a +married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?' + +"I answered that I had not. + +"His face fell immediately. + +"'Dear me,' he said, gravely, 'that is very serious indeed! I am sorry +to hear you say that. The fund was of course for the propagation and +spread of the red-heads, as well as for their maintenance. It is +exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a bachelor.' + +"My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was not +to have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for a few +minutes, he said that it would be all right. + +"'In the case of another,' said he, 'the objection might be fatal, but +we must stretch a point in favor of a man with such a head of hair as +yours. When shall you be able to enter upon your new duties?' + +"'Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,' said +I. + +"'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!' said Vincent Spaulding. 'I +shall be able to look after that for you.' + +"'What would be the hours?' I asked. + +"'Ten to two.' + +"Now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done of an evening, Mr. Holmes, +especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just before pay-day; +so it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings. +Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would +see to anything that turned up. + +"'That would suit me very well,' said I. 'And the pay?' + +"'Is £4 a week.' + +"'And the work?' + +"'Is purely nominal.' + +"'What do you call purely nominal?' + +"'Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the +whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever. The +will is very clear upon that point. You don't comply with the +conditions if you budge from the office during that time.' + +"'It's only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,' said +I. + +"'No excuse will avail,' said Mr. Duncan Ross, 'neither sickness nor +business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your +billet.' + +"'And the work?' + +"'Is to copy out the Encyclopædia Britannica. There is the first +volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and +blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be ready +to-morrow?' + +"'Certainly,' I answered. + +"'Then good-by, Mr. Jabez Wilson; and let me congratulate you once +more on the important position which you have been fortunate enough to +gain.' He bowed me out of the room, and I went home with my assistant, +hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my own good +fortune. + +"Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in low +spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair +must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might be I +could not imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that any one could +make such a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing anything +so simple as copying out the 'Encyclopædia Britannica.' Vincent +Spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by bedtime I had +reasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, in the morning I +determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of +ink, and with a quill pen and seven sheets of foolscap paper I started +off for Pope's Court. + +"Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as +possible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross was +there to see that I got fairly to work. He started me off upon the +letter A, and then he left me; but he would drop in from time to time +to see that all was right with me. At two o'clock he bade me good-by, +complimented me upon the amount that I had written, and locked the +door of the office after me. + +"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the manager +came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my week's work. It +was the same next week, and the same the week after. Every morning I +was there at ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr. +Duncan Ross took to coming in only once of a morning, and then after a +time he did not come in at all. Still, of course, I never dared to +leave the room for an instant, for I was not sure when he might come, +and the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I +would not risk the loss of it. + +"Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots and +Archery and Armor and Architecture and Attica, and hoped with +diligence that I might get on to the B's before very long. It cost me +something in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my +writings. And then suddenly the whole business came to an end." + +"To an end?" + +"Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as usual +at ten o'clock, but the door was shut and locked with a little square +of card-board hammered on to the middle of the panel with a tack. Here +it is, and you can read for yourself." + +He held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet of +note-paper. It read in this fashion:-- + + THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE + IS + DISSOLVED. + + _October 9th, 1890._ + +Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful +face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely +overtopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a +roar of laughter. + +"I cannot see that there is anything very funny," cried our client, +flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. "If you can do nothing +better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere." + +"No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he +had half risen. "I really wouldn't miss your case for the world. It is +most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my saying +so, something just a little funny about it. Pray, what steps did you +take when you found the card upon the door?" + +"I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called at the +offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it. +Finally I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the +ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of +the Red-Headed League. He said that he had never heard of any such +body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that the +name was new to him. + +"'Well,' said I, 'the gentleman at No. 4.' + +"'What, the red-headed man?' + +"'Yes.' + +"'Oh,' said he, 'his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor, and +was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premises +were ready. He moved out yesterday.' + +"'Where could I find him?' + +"'Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King +Edward Street, near St. Paul's.' + +"I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was a +manufactory of artificial knee caps, and no one in it had ever heard +of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross." + +"And what did you do then?" asked Holmes. + +"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my +assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say that +if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite good enough, +Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place without a struggle; so +as I had heard that you were good enough to give advice to poor folk +who were in need of it, I came right away to you." + +"And you did very wisely." said Holmes. "Your case is an exceedingly +remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you +have told me, I think that it is possible that graver issues hang from +it than might at first sight appear." + +"Grave enough!" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. "Why, I have lost four pound a +week." + +"As far as you are personally concerned," remarked Holmes, "I do not +see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. On +the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some £30, to say +nothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every subject +which comes under the letter A. You have lost nothing by them." + +"No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and +what their object was in playing this prank--if it was a prank--upon +me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them +two-and-thirty pounds." + +"We shall endeavor to clear up these points for you. And first one or +two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first called +your attention to the advertisement--how long had he been with you?" + +"About a month then." + +"How did he come?" + +"In answer to an advertisement." + +"Was he the only applicant?" + +"No; I had a dozen." + +"Why did you pick him?" + +"Because he was handy, and would come cheap." + +"At half wages, in fact." + +"Yes." + +"What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?" + +"Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face, +though he's not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his +forehead." + +Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. "I thought as +much," said he. "Have you ever observed that his ears are pierced for +earrings?" + +"Yes, sir. He told me that a gipsy had done it for him when he was a +lad." + +"Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. "He is still with +you?" + +"Oh yes, sir; I have only just left him." + +"And has your business been attended to in your absence?" + +"Nothing to complain of, sir. There's never very much to do of a +morning." + +"That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion +upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday, +and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion." + +"Well, Watson," said Holmes, when our visitor had left us, "what do +you make of it all?" + +"I make nothing of it," I answered, frankly. "It is a most mysterious +business." + +"As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is, the less +mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes +which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most +difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter." + +"What are you going to do, then?" I asked. + +"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three-pipe problem, and I beg +that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes." He curled himself up in +his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and +there he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting +out like the bill of some strange bird. I had come to the conclusion +that he had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he +suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of a man who has +made up his mind, and put his pipe down upon the mantel-piece. + +"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon," he remarked. +"What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few +hours?" + +"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing." + +"Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the city first, and +we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that there is a good deal +of German music on the programme, which is rather more to my taste +than Italian or French. It is introspective, and I want to introspect. +Come along!" + +We traveled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short walk +took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story which +we had listened to in the morning. It was a poky little shabby-genteel +place, where four lines of dingy two-storied brick houses looked out +into a small railed-in inclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a +few clumps of faded laurel-bushes made a hard fight against a +smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls, and a brown +board with "JABEZ WILSON" in white letters, upon a corner house, +announced the place where our red-headed client carried on his +business. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it, with his head on +one side, and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly +between puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then +down again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally +he returned to the pawnbroker's, and having thumped vigorously upon +the pavement with his stick two or three times he went up to the door +and knocked. It was instantly opened by a bright-looking, clean-shaven +young fellow, who asked him to step in. + +"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wish to ask you how you would go +from here to the Strand." + +"Third right, fourth left," answered the assistant, promptly, closing +the door. + +"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes, as we walked away. "He is, in +my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am +not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something +of him before." + +"Evidently," said I, "Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for a good deal in +this mystery of the Red-Headed League. I am sure that you inquired +your way merely in order that you might see him." + +"Not him." + +"What then?" + +"The knees of his trousers." + +"And what did you see?" + +"What I expected to see." + +"Why did you beat the pavement?" + +"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are +spies in an enemy's country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square. +Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it." + +The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner +from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to +it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the main +arteries which convey the traffic of the city to the north and west. +The roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce, flowing +in a double tide inward and outward, while the foot-paths were black +with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult to realize, +as we looked at the line of fine shops and stately business premises, +that they really abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant +square which we had just quitted. + +"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing along +the line, "I should like just to remember the order of the houses +here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London. +There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the +Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian +Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building depot. That carries us +right on to the other block. And now, doctor, we've done our work, so +it's time we had some play. A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then +off to violin-land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, +and there are no red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums." + +My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very +capable performer, but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the +afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, +gently waving his long thin fingers in time to the music, while his +gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those +of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted, +ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. In his +singular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, and +his extreme exactness and astuteness represented, as I have often +thought, the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which +occasionally predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him +from extreme languor to devouring energy; and as I knew well, he was +never so truly formidable as when for days on end he had been lounging +in his arm-chair, amid his improvisations and his black-letter +editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come +upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the +level of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methods +would look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that of +other mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the music +at St. James's Hall, I felt that an evil time might be coming upon +those whom he had set himself to hunt down. + +"You want to go home, no doubt, doctor," he remarked as we emerged. + +"Yes, it would be as well." + +"And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This +business at Coburg Square is serious." + +"Why serious?" + +"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to +believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being Saturday +rather complicates matters. I shall want your help to-night." + +"At what time?" + +"Ten will be early enough." + +"I shall be at Baker Street at ten." + +"Very well. And I say, doctor, there may be some little danger, so +kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved his hand, +turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd. + +I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbors, but I was always +oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with +Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what +he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw clearly +not only what had happened, but what was about to happen, while to me +the whole business was still confused and grotesque. As I drove home +to my house in Kensington I thought over it all, from the +extraordinary story of the red-headed copier of the 'Encyclopædia' +down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with +which he had parted from me. What was this nocturnal expedition, and +why should I go armed? Where were we going, and what were we to do? I +had the hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker's assistant +was a formidable man--a man who might play a deep game. I tried to +puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair, and set the matter aside +until night should bring an explanation. + +It was a quarter past nine when I started from home and made my way +across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Two +hansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered the passage I +heard the sound of voices from above. On entering his room I found +Holmes in animated conversation with two men, one of whom I recognized +as Peter Jones, the official police agent, while the other was a long +thin sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectable +frock-coat. + +"Ha! our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacket, +and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. "Watson, I think you +know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr. +Merryweather, who is to be our companion in to-night's adventure." + +"We're hunting in couples again, doctor, you see," said Jones, in his +consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a +chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do the running +down." + +"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase," +observed Mr. Merryweather, gloomily. + +"You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir," said the +police agent, loftily. "He has his own little methods, which are, if +he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and +fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It is not too +much to say that once or twice, as in that business of the Sholto +murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly correct than the +official force." + +"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right," said the stranger, +with deference, "Still, I confess that I miss my rubber. It is the +first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I have not had my +rubber." + +"I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you will play for +a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the play +will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will be +some £30,000; and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you +wish to lay your hands." + +"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's a young +man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and I +would rather have my bracelets on him than on any criminal in London. +He's a remarkable man, is young John Clay. His grandfather was a royal +duke, and he himself has been to Eton and Oxford. His brain is as +cunning as his fingers, and though we meet signs of him at every turn, +we never know where to find the man himself. He'll crack a crib in +Scotland one week, and be raising money to build an orphanage in +Cornwall the next. I've been on his track for years, and have never +set eyes on him yet." + +"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night. I've +had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I agree with +you that he is at the head of his profession. It is past ten, however, +and quite time that we started. If you two will take the first hansom, +Watson and I will follow in the second." + +Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive, and +lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in the +afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streets +until we emerged into Farringdon Street. + +"We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellow +Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the +matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is not a +bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession. He has one +positive virtue. He is as brave as a bull-dog, and as tenacious as a +lobster if he gets his claws upon any one. Here we are, and they are +waiting for us." + +We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had found +ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and following the +guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage and +through a side door, which he opened for us. Within, there was a small +corridor, which ended in a very massive iron gate. This also was +opened, and led down a flight of winding stone steps, which terminated +at another formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped to light a +lantern, and then conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling passage, +and so, after opening a third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which +was piled all around with crates and massive boxes. + +"You are not very vulnerable from above," Holmes remarked, as he held +up the lantern and gazed about him. + +"Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon the +flags which lined the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!" +he remarked, looking up in surprise. + +"I must really ask you to be a little more quiet," said Holmes, +severely. "You have already imperiled the whole success of our +expedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit down +upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?" + +The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a very +injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his knees +upon the floor, and with the lantern and a magnifying lens began to +examine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few seconds sufficed +to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again, and put his glass in +his pocket. + +"We have at least an hour before us," he remarked; "for they can +hardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed. Then +they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their work the +longer time they will have for their escape. We are at present, +doctor--as no doubt you have divined--in the cellar at the City branch +of one of the principal London banks. Mr. Merryweather is the chairman +of directors, and he will explain to you that there are reasons why +the more daring criminals of London should take a considerable +interest in this cellar at present." + +"It is our French gold," whispered the director. "We have had several +warnings that an attempt might be made upon it." + +"Your French gold?" + +"Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources, and +borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of France. It +has become known that we have never had occasion to unpack the money, +and that it is still lying in our cellar. The crate upon which I sit +contains 2,000 napoleons packed between layers of lead foil. Our +reserve of bullion is much larger at present than is usually kept in a +single branch office, and the directors have had misgivings upon the +subject." + +"Which were very well justified," observed Holmes. "And now it is time +that we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an hour +matters will come to a head. In the mean time, Mr. Merryweather, we +must put the screen over that dark lantern." + +"And sit in the dark?" + +"I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and I +thought that, as we were a _partie carrée_, you might have your rubber +after all. But I see that the enemy's preparations have gone so far +that we cannot risk the presence of a light. And first of all, we must +choose our positions. These are daring men, and though we shall take +them at a disadvantage, they may do us some harm unless we are +careful. I shall stand behind this crate, and do you conceal +yourselves behind those. Then when I flash a light upon them, close in +swiftly. If they fire, Watson, have no compunction about shooting them +down." + +I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case behind +which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front of his +lantern, and left us in pitch darkness--such an absolute darkness as I +had never before experienced. The smell of hot metal remained to +assure us that the light was still there, ready to flash out at a +moment's notice. To me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch of +expectancy, there was something depressing and subduing in the sudden +gloom, and in the cold dank air of the vault. + +"They have but one retreat," whispered Holmes. "That is back through +the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have done what I +asked you, Jones?" + +"I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door." + +"Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent and +wait." + +What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but an +hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must have +almost gone, and the dawn be breaking above us. My limbs were weary +and stiff, for I feared to change my position; yet my nerves were +worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and my hearing was so acute +that I could not only hear the gentle breathing of my companions, but +I could distinguish the deeper, heavier in-breath of the bulky Jones +from the thin, sighing note of the bank director. From my position I +could look over the case in the direction of the floor. Suddenly my +eyes caught the glint of a light. + +At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Then it +lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without any +warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand appeared; a white, +almost womanly hand, which felt about in the centre of the little area +of light. For a minute or more the hand, with its writhing fingers, +protruded out of the floor. Then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it +appeared, and all was dark again save the single lurid spark which +marked a chink between the stones. + +Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending, tearing +sound, one of the broad white stones turned over upon its side, and +left a square gaping hole, through which streamed the light of a +lantern. Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyish face, which +looked keenly about it, and then, with a hand on either side of the +aperture, drew itself shoulder-high and waist-high, until one knee +rested upon the edge. In another instant he stood at the side of the +hole, and was hauling after him a companion, lithe and small like +himself, with a pale face and a shock of very red hair. + +"It's all clear," he whispered. "Have you the chisel and the +bags?--Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I'll swing for it!" + +Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the collar. +The other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of rending cloth +as Jones clutched at his skirts. The light flashed upon the barrel of +a revolver, but Holmes's hunting crop came down on the man's wrist and +the pistol clinked upon the stone floor. + +"It's no use, John Clay," said Holmes, blandly, "You have no chance at +all." + +"So I see," the other answered, with the utmost coolness. "I fancy +that my pal is all right, though I see you have got his coat-tails." + +"There are three men waiting for him at the door," said Holmes. + +"Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. I must +compliment you." + +"And I you," Holmes answered. "Your red-headed idea was very new and +effective." + +"You'll see your pal again presently," said Jones. "He's quicker at +climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out, while I fix the +derbies." + +"I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands," remarked +our prisoner, as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists. "You may not +be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have the goodness, also, +when you address me always to say 'sir' and 'please.'" + +"All right," said Jones, with a stare and a snigger. "Well, would you +please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry your +Highness to the police station?" + +"That is better," said John Clay, serenely. He made a sweeping bow to +the three of us, and walked quietly off in the custody of the +detective. + +"Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather, as we followed them from +the cellar, "I do not know how the bank can thank you or repay you. +There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated in the most +complete manner one of the most determined attempts at bank robbery +that have ever come within my experience." + +"I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr. John +Clay," said Holmes. "I have been at some small expense over this +matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund; but beyond that I am +amply repaid by having had an experience which is in many ways unique, +and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of the Red-Headed +League." + + * * * * * + +"You see, Watson," he explained, in the early hours of the morning, as +we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street, "it was +perfectly obvious from the first that the only possible object of +this rather fantastic business of the advertisement of the League, and +the copying of the 'Encyclopædia,' must be to get this not over bright +pawnbroker out of the way for a number of hours every day. It was a +curious way of managing it, but really, it would be difficult to +suggest a better. The method was no doubt suggested to Clay's +ingenious mind by the color of his accomplice's hair. The £4 a week +was a lure which must draw him,--and what was it to them, who were +playing for thousands? They put in the advertisement, one rogue has +the temporary office, the other rogue incites the man to apply for it, +and together they manage to secure his absence every morning in the +week. From the time that I heard of the assistant having come for half +wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive for +securing the situation." + +"But how could you guess what the motive was?" + +"Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected a mere +vulgar intrigue. That however was out of the question. The man's +business was a small one, and there was nothing in his house which +could account for such elaborate preparations and such an expenditure +as they were at. It must then be something out of the house. What +could it be? I thought of the assistant's fondness for photography, +and his trick of vanishing into the cellar. The cellar! There was the +end of this tangled clue. Then I made inquiries as to this mysterious +assistant, and found that I had to deal with one of the coolest and +most daring criminals in London. He was doing something in the +cellar--something which took many hours a day for months on end. What +could it be, once more? I could think of nothing save that he was +running a tunnel to some other building. + +"So, far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. I +surprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was +ascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind. It +was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and as I hoped, the assistant +answered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we had never set eyes +upon each other before. I hardly looked at his face. His knees were +what I wished to see. You must yourself have remarked how worn, +wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of those hours of +burrowing. The only remaining point was what they were burrowing for. +I walked round the corner, saw that the City and Suburban Bank +abutted on our friend's premises, and felt that I had solved my +problem. When you drove home after the concert I called upon Scotland +Yard, and upon the chairman of the bank directors, with the result +that you have seen." + +"And how could you tell that they would make their attempt to-night?" +I asked. + +"Well, when they closed their League offices, that was a sign that +they cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence--in other +words, that they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential that +they should use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the bullion +might be removed. Saturday would suit them better than any other day, +as it would give them two days for their escape. For all these reasons +I expected them to come to-night." + +"You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed, in unfeigned +admiration. "It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings true." + +"It saved me from ennui," he answered, yawning. "Alas! I already feel +it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort to escape +from the commonplaces of existence. These little problems help me to +do so." + +"And you are a benefactor of the race," said I. + +He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, perhaps after all it is of some +little use," he remarked. "'L'homme c'est rien--l'oeuvre c'est tout,' +as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand." + + + +THE BOWMEN'S SONG + +From 'The White Company' + + + What of the bow? + The bow was made in England: + Of true wood, of yew wood, + The wood of English bows; + So men who are free + Love the old yew-tree + And the land where the yew-tree grows. + + What of the cord? + The cord was made in England: + A rough cord, a tough cord, + A cord that bowmen love; + So we'll drain our jacks + To the English flax + And the land where the hemp was wove. + + What of the shaft? + The shaft was cut in England: + A long shaft, a strong shaft, + Barbed and trim and true; + So we'll drink all together + To the gray goose feather, + And the land where the gray goose flew. + + What of the men? + The men were bred in England: + The bowman--the yeoman-- + The lads of dale and fell. + Here's to you--and to you! + To the hearts that are true + And the land where the true hearts dwell. + + Reprinted by permission of the American Publishers' + Corporation, Publishers. + + + + +HOLGER DRACHMANN + +(1846-) + +[Illustration: HOLGER DRACHMANN] + + +Holger Drachmann, born in Copenhagen October 9th, 1846, belongs to the +writers characterized by Georg Brandes as "the men of the new era." + +Danish literature had stood high during the first half of the +nineteenth century. In 1850 Oehlenschläger died. In 1870 there was +practically no Danish literature. The reason for this may have been +that after the new political life of 1848-9 and the granting of the +Danish Constitution, politics absorbed all young talent, and men of +literary tastes put themselves at the service of the daily press. + +In 1872 Georg Brandes gave his lectures on 'Main Currents in the +Literature of the Nineteenth Century' at the University of Copenhagen. +That same year Drachmann published his first collection of 'Poems,' +and so began his extraordinary productivity of poems, dramas, and +novels. Of these, his lyric poems are undoubtedly of the greatest +value. His is a distinctly lyric temperament. The new school had +chosen for its guide Brandes's teaching that "Literature, to be of +significance, should discuss problems." In view of this fact it is +somewhat hard to understand why Drachmann should be called a man of +the new era. He never discusses problems. He always gives himself up +unreservedly to the subject which at that special moment claims his +sympathy. Taken as a whole, therefore, his writings present a certain +inconsistency. He has shown himself alternately as socialist and +royalist, realist and romanticist, freethinker and believer, +cosmopolitan and national, according to the lyric enthusiasm of the +moment. Independent of these changes, the one thing to be admired and +enjoyed is his lyric feeling and the often exquisite form in which he +presents it. His larger compositions, novels, and dramas do not show +the same power over his subject. + +If Drachmann discusses any problem, it is the problem Drachmann. He +does this sometimes with what Brandes calls "a light and joking +self-irony," in a most sympathetic way. Brandes quotes one of +Drachmann's early stories, where it is said of the hero:--"His name +was really Palnatoke Olsen; a continually repeated discord of two +tones, as he used to say." Olsen is one of the most commonplace Danish +names. Palnatoke is the name of one of the fiercest warriors of +heathen antiquity, who, like a veritable Valhalla god, dared to oppose +the terrible Danish king Harald Blaatand. When Olsen's parents gave +him this name they unwittingly described their son, "forever drawn by +two poles: one the plain Olsen, the other the hot-headed fiery +Viking." With this in mind, and considering Drachmann's literary works +as a whole, one is irresistibly reminded of his friend and +contemporary in Norway, Björnsterne Björnson. There is this difference +between them, however, that if the irony of Palnatoke Olsen may be +applied to both, one might for Drachmann use the abbreviation P. Olsen +and for Björnson undoubtedly Palnatoke O. + +It might be said of Drachmann, as Sauer said of the Italian poet +Monti:--"Like a master in the art of appreciation, he knew how to give +himself up to great time-stirring ideas; somewhat as a gifted actor +throws himself into his part, with the full strength of his art, with +an enthusiasm carrying all before it, and in the most expressive way; +then when the part is played, lays it quietly aside and takes hold of +something else." + +When a young man, Drachmann studied at the Academy of Arts in +Copenhagen, and met with considerable success as a marine painter. His +love for the Northern seas shows itself in his poetry and prose, and +his descriptions of the sea and the life of the sailor and fisherman +are of the truest and best yielded by his pen. He is the author of no +less than forty-six volumes of poems, dramas, novels, short stories, +and sketches, and of two unpublished dramas. His most important work +is 'Forskrevet' (Condemned), which is largely autobiographical; his +most attractive though not his strongest production is the opera 'Der +Var Engang' (Once Upon a Time), founded on Andersen's 'The Swineherd,' +with music by Sange Müller; his best poems and tales are those dealing +with the sea. + +At present he lives in Hamburg, where on October 10th, 1896, +he celebrated his fiftieth birthday and his twenty-fifth +"Author-Jubilee," as the Danes call it. Among the features of the +celebration were the sending of an enormous number of telegrams from +Drachmann's admirers in Europe and America, and the performance of two +of his plays,--one at the Royal Theatre in Copenhagen, the other at +the Stadt Theatre in Altona. + + + +THE SKIPPER AND HIS SHIP + +From 'Paul and Virginia of a Northern Zone': copyright 1895, by Way +and Williams, Chicago + + +The Anna Dorothea, in the North Sea, was pounding along under +shortened sail. The weather was thick, the air dense; there was a +falling barometer. + +It had been a short trip this time. Leroy and Sons, wine merchants of +Havre, had made better offers than the old houses in Bordeaux. At each +one of his later trips, Captain Spang had said it should be his last. +He would "lay up" at home; he was growing too stout and clumsy for the +sea, and now he must trust fully to Tönnes, his first mate. The +captain's big broad face was flushed as usual; he always looked as if +he were illuminated by a setting October sun; there was no change +here--rather, the sunset tint was stronger. But Tönnes noted how the +features, which he knew best in moments of simple good-nature and of +sullen tumult, had gradually relaxed. He thought that it would indeed +soon be time for his old skipper to "lay up"; yet perhaps a few trips +might still be made. + +"Holloa, Tönnes! let her go about before the next squall strikes her. +She lies too dead on this bow." + +The skipper had raised his head above the cabin stairs. As usual, he +was in his shirt-sleeves, and his scanty hair fluttered in the wind. +When he had warned his mate, he again disappeared in the cabin. + +Tönnes gave the order to the man at the helm, and hurried to help at +the main-braces. The double-reefed main-topsail swung about, the Anna +Dorothea caught the wind somewhat sluggishly, and not without getting +considerable water over her; then followed the fore-topsail, the +reefed foresail, and the trysail. When the tacking was finished and +the sails had again caught the wind, the trysail was torn from the +boltropes with a loud crack. + +The captain's head appeared again, + +"We must close-reef!" said he. + +The last reef was taken in; the storm came down and lashed the sea; +the sky grew more and more threatening; the waves dashed over the deck +at each plunge of the old bark in the sea. The old vessel, which had +carried her captain for a generation, lay heavily on the water--Tönnes +thought too heavily. + +The second mate--the same who had played the accordion at the +inn--came over to Tönnes. + +"It was wrong to stow the china-clay at the bottom and the casks on +top; she lies horribly dead, and I'm afraid we shall have to use the +pumps." + +"Yes, I said so to the old man, but he would have it that way," +answered Tönnes. "We shall have a wet night." + +"We shall, surely," said the second mate. + +Tönnes crawled up to the helm and looked at the compass. Two men were +at the helm--lashed fast. Tönnes looked up into the rigging and out to +windward; then suddenly he cried, with the full force of his lungs:-- + +"Look out for breakers!" + +Tönnes himself helped at the wheel; but the vessel only half answered +the helm. The greater portion of the sea struck the bow, the quarter, +and the bulwarks and stanchions amidship, so that they creaked and +groaned. One of the men at the helm had grasped Tönnes, who would +otherwise have been swept into the lee scupper. When the ship had +righted from the terrible blow, the captain stood on the deck in his +oilcloth suit. + +"Are any men missing?" cried he, through the howling of the wind and +the roaring of the water streaming fore and aft, unable to escape +quickly enough through the scuppers. + +The storm raged with undiminished fury. The crew--and amongst them +Prussian, who had been promoted to be ship's-dog--by-and-by dived +forward through the seething salt water and the fragments of wreck +that covered the deck. + +Now it was that the second mate was missing. + +The captain looked at Tönnes, and then out on the wild sea. He +scarcely glanced at the crushed long-boat; even if a boat could have +been launched, it would have been too late. Tönnes and his skipper +were fearless men, who took things as they were. If any help could +have been given, they would have given it. But their eyes sought +vainly for any dark speck amidst the foaming waves--and it was +necessary to care for themselves, the vessel and the crew. + +"God save his soul!" murmured Captain Spang. + +Tönnes passed his hand across his brow, and went to his duty. Evening +set in; the wind increased rather than decreased. + +"She is taking in water," said the captain, who had sounded the +pumps. + +Tönnes assented. + +"We must change her course," said the captain. "She pitches too +heavily in this sea." + +The bark was held up to the wind as closely as possible. The pumps +were worked steadily, but often got out of order on account of the +china-clay, which mixed with the water down in the hold. + +It was plain that the vessel grew heavier and heavier; her movements +in climbing a wave were more and more dead. + +During the night a cry arose: again one of the crew was washed +overboard. + +It was a long night and a wet one, as Tönnes had predicted. Several +times the skipper dived clown into the cabin--Tonnes knew perfectly +well what for, but he said nothing. Few words were spoken on board the +Anna Dorothea that night. + +In the morning the captain, returning from one of his excursions down +below, declared that the cabin was half full of water. + +"We must watch for a sail," he said, abruptly and somewhat huskily. + +Tönnes passed the word round amongst the crew. One might read on their +faces that they were prepared for this, and that they had ceased to +hope, although they had not stopped work at the pumps. + +The whole of the weather bulwark, the cook's cabin and the long-boat, +were crushed or washed away; the water could be heard below the +hatches. While keeping a sharp lookout for sails, many an eye glanced +at the yawl as the last resort. But on board Captain Spang's vessel +the words were not yet spoken which carried with them the doom of the +ship: "We are sinking!" + +In the gray-white of the dawn a signal was to be hoisted; the bunting +was tied together at the middle and raised half-mast high. + +Both the captain and Tönnes had lashed themselves aft; for now the +bark was but little better than a wreck, over which the billows broke +incessantly, as the vessel, reeling like a drunken man, exposed +herself to the violent attacks of the sea instead of parrying them. + +"A sail to windward, captain!" cried Tönnes. + +Captain Spang only nodded. + +"She holds her course!" cried one of the crew excitedly. "No," said +Tönnes, quietly. "She has seen us, and is bearing down upon us!" + +The captain again nodded. + +"Tis a brig!" cried one of the crew. + +"A schooner-brig!" Tönnes corrected. "She carries her sails finely. I +am sure she is a fruit-trader." + +At last the strange vessel was so near that they could see her deck +each time she was thrown upon her side in the violent seething sea. + +"Yes, 'tis the schooner-brig!" exclaimed Tönnes. "Do you remember, +captain, the time when--" + +Again Captain Spang nodded. He acted strangely. Tönnes looked sharply +at him, and shook his head. + +Now Tönnes hailed the vessel:-- + +"Help us!--We are sinking!" + +At this moment two or three of the bark's crew rushed toward the yawl, +although Tönnes warned them back. + +Captain Spang seemed changed. Evidently some opposing feelings +contended within him. Seeing the insubordination of the men, he only +shrugged his shoulders, and let Tönnes take full charge. + +The men were in the yawl, still hanging under the iron davits. Now +they cut the ropes; the yawl touched the water. The crew of the other +vessel gestured warningly; but it was too late. A sea seized the yawl +with its small crew, and the next moment crushed it against the main +chains of the bark. Their shipmates raised a cry, and rushed to help +them; but help was impossible. Boat and crew had disappeared. + +"Didn't I say so?" cried Tönnes, with flaming eyes. + +Over there in the schooner-brig all was activity. From the Anna +Dorothea they could plainly see how the captain gave his orders. He +manoeuvred his vessel like a true sailor. To board the wreck in such a +sea would be madness. Therefore they unreeved two long lines and +attached them to the long-boat, one on each side. Then they laid +breeching under the boat, and hauled it up amidships by means of +tackle. Taking advantage of a moment when their vessel was athwart the +seas, they unloosed the tackle, and the boat swung out over the side; +then they cut the breeching, the boat fell on the water aft, and now +both lines were eased off quickly; while the brig caught the wind, the +boat drifted toward the stern-sheets of the bark. + +Tönnes was ready with a boat-hook, and connections were quickly made +between the boat and the wreck. + +"Quick now!" cried Tönnes. "Every man in the boat. No one takes his +clothes with him! We may be thankful if we save our lives." + +The men were quickly over the stern-sheets and down in the boat. +Prussian whined, and kept close to Captain Spang, who had not moved +one step on the deck. + +"Come, captain!" cried Tönnes, taking the skipper by the arm. + +"What's the matter?" asked the old man angrily. + +Tönnes looked at him. Prussian barked. + +"We must get into the boat, captain. The vessel may sink at any +moment. Come!" + +The captain pressed his sou'wester down over his forehead, and glanced +around his deck. + +The men in the boat cried out to them to come. + +"Well!" said Captain Spang, but with an air so absent-minded and a +bearing so irresolute that Tönnes at last took a firm hold on him. + +Prussian showed his teeth at his former master. + +"You go first!" exclaimed Tönnes, snatching the dog and throwing him +down to the men, who were having hard work to keep the boat from +wrecking. + +When the dog was no longer on the deck, it seemed as if Captain +Spang's resistance was broken. Tönnes did not let go his hold on him; +but the young mate had to use almost superhuman strength to get the +heavy old man down over the vessel's side and placed on a seat in the +boat. + +As soon as they had observed from the brig that this had been done, +they hauled in both lines. The boat moved back again; but it was a +dangerous voyage, and all were obliged to lash themselves fast to the +thwarts with ropes placed there for that purpose. + +Captain Spang was like a child. Tönnes had to lash him to the seat. +The old man sat with his face hidden in his hands, his back turned +toward his ship, inactive, and seemingly unconscious of what took +place around him. + +At last, when after a hard struggle all were on the deck of the +schooner-brig, her captain came forward, placed his hand on his old +friend's shoulder, and said:-- + +"It is the second time, you see! Well, we all cling to life, and the +vessel over there is pretty old." + +Captain Spang started. He scarcely returned his friend's hand-shaking. + +"My vessel, I say! My papers! All that I have is in the vessel. I must +go aboard, do you hear? I must go aboard. How could I forget?" + +The other skipper and Tönnes looked at each other. + +Captain Spang wrung his hands and stamped on the deck, his eyes fixed +on his sinking vessel. She was still afloat; what did he care for the +gale and the heavy sea? He belonged to the old school of skippers; he +was bound to his vessel by ties longer than any life-line, heavier +than any hawser: he had left his ship in a bewildered state, and had +taken nothing with him that might serve to prove what he possessed and +how long he had possessed it. His good old vessel was still floating +on the water. He must, he would go there; if nobody would go with him, +he would go alone. + +All remonstrances were in vain. + +Tönnes pressed the other skipper's hand. + +"There is nothing else to be done. I know him," said he. + +"So do I," was the answer. + +Captain Spang and his mate were again in the boat. As they were on the +point of starting, a loud whine and violent barking sounded from the +deck, and Prussian showed his one eye over the railing. + +"Stay where you are!" cried Tönnes. "We shall be back soon." + +But the dog did not understand him. Perhaps he had his doubts; no one +can say. He sprang overboard; Tönnes seized him by the ear, and hauled +him into the boat. + +And then the two men and the dog ventured back to the abandoned +vessel. + +This time the old man climbed on board without assistance. + +Prussian whined in the boat. + +"Throw that dog up to me!" cried the master. + +Tönnes did so. + +"Shall I come up and help you?" he called out. + +"No, I can find my own way." + +"But hurry, captain! do you understand?" said Tönnes, who anxiously +noticed that the motions of the vessel were becoming more and more +dangerous, while he needed all his strength to keep the boat clear of +the wreck. + +An answer came from the bark, but he could not catch it. In this +moment Tönnes recalled the day when he rowed the captain out on the +bay to the brig. His next thought was of Nanna. Oh, if she knew where +they were! + +And at this thought the mate's breast was filled with conflicting +emotions. The dear blessed girl! Oh, if her father would only come! + +"Captain!" cried Tönnes; "Captain Spang! for God's sake, come! Leave +those papers alone. The vessel is sinking. We may at any moment--" + +He paused. + +The captain stood at the stern-sheets. At his side was Prussian, +squinting down into the boat. There was an entirely strange expression +in Andreas Spang's face; a double expression--one moment hard and +defiant, the next almost solemn. + +The sou'wester had fallen from his old head. His scanty hairs +fluttered in the wind. He held in his hand a parcel of papers and a +coil of rope. He pointed toward the brig. + +"There!" he cried, throwing the package and the rope down to Tonnes. +"Give the skipper this new line for his trouble. He has used plenty of +rope for us. You go back. I stay here. Give--my--love--to the girl at +home.--You and she--You two--God bless you!" + +"Captain!" cried Tönnes in affright; "you are sick; come, let me--" + +He prepared to climb on board. + +Captain Spang lifted his hand threateningly, and Prussian barked +furiously. + +"Stay down there, boy, I say! The vessel and I, we belong together. +You shall take care of the girl. Good-by!" + +The Anna Dorothea rolled heavily over on one side, righted again, and +then began to plunge her head downwards, like a whale that, tired of +the surface, seeks rest at the bottom. The crew of the brig hauled in +the lines of the boat. Tossed on the turbid sea, Tönnes saw his old +skipper leaning against the helm, the dog at his side. His gray hairs +fluttered in the wind as if they wafted a last farewell; and down with +vessel and dog went the old skipper--down into the wild sea that so +long had borne him on its waves. + + + +THE PRINCE'S SONG + +From 'Once Upon a Time' + + + Princess, I come from out a land that lieth-- + I know not in what arctic latitude: + Though high in the bleak north, it never sigheth + For sunny smiles; they wait not to be wooed. + Our privilege we know: the bright half-year + Illumines sea and shore with sunlit glory; + In twilight then our fertile fields we ear, + And round our brows we twine a wreath of story. + + When winter decks with frost the bearded oak, + In songs and sagas we our youth recover; + Around the hearthstone crowd the listening folk, + While on the wall mysterious shadows hover. + The summer night, suffused with loving glow, + The future, dawning in a golden chalice, + Enkindles hope in hearts of high and low, + From peasant's cottage to the royal palace. + + The snow of winter spreads o'er hill and valley + Its soft and silken blue-white veil of sleep; + The springtime bids the green-clad earth to rally, + When through the budding leaves the sunbeams peep, + The autumn brings fresh breezes from the ocean + And paints the lad's fair cheeks a rosy red; + The maiden's heart is stirred with new emotion, + When summer's fragrance o'er the world is spread. + + To roam in our fair land is like a dream, + Through these still woods, renowned in ancient story, + Along the shores, deep-mirrored in the gleam + Of fjords that shine beneath the sky's blue glory. + Upon the meadows where the flowers bloom + The elfin maidens hide themselves in slumbers, + But soon along the lakes where shadows gloom + In every bosky nook they'll dance their numbers. + + There are no frowning crags on our green mountains, + No dark, forbidding cliffs where gorges yawn; + The streams flow gently seaward from their fountains, + As through the silent valley steals the dawn. + Here nature smoothes the rugged, tames the savage. + And men born here in victory are kind, + Forbearing still the foeman's land to ravage, + And in defeat they bear a steadfast mind. + + I'm proud of land, of kindred, and of nation, + I'm proud my home is where the waters flow; + Afar I see in golden radiation + My native land like sun through amber glow. + Its warmth revives my heart, however lonely: + Forgive me, Princess, if my soul's aflame,-- + But rather be at home, a beggar only, + Than, exiled thence, have universal fame. + + Translation of Charles Harvey Genung. + + + + +JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE + +(1795-1820) + +[Illustration: JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE] + + +Conspicuous among the young poets, essayists, and journalists, who +made up literary New York in the early part of the century, was Joseph +Rodman Drake, the friend of Halleck, and the best beloved perhaps of +all that brilliant group. Hardly known to this generation save by +'The Culprit Fay' and 'The American Flag,' Drake was essentially +a true poet and a man of letters. His work was characteristic of +his day. He had a certain amount of classical knowledge, a certain +eighteenth-century grace and style, yet withal, an instinctive +Americanism which flowered out into our first true national +literature. The group of writers among whom were found Irving, +Halleck, Willis, Dana, Hoffman, Verplanck, Brockden Brown, and a +score of others, reflected that age in which they sought their +literary models. With the exception of Poe, who belonged to a somewhat +later time and whose genius was purely subjective, much of the +production of these Americans followed the lines of their English +predecessors,--Johnson, Goldsmith, Addison, and Steele. It is only in +their deeper moments of thought and feeling that there sounds that +note of love of country, of genuine Americanism, which gives their +work individuality, and which will keep their memory green. + +Drake was born in New York, in August 1795. He was descended from the +same family as the great admiral of Elizabethan days, the American +branch of which had served their country honorably both in colonial +and Revolutionary times. The scenes of his boyhood were the same as +those that formed the environment of Irving, memories of which are +scattered thick through the literature of the day. New York was still +a picturesque, hospitable, rural capital, the centre of the present +town being miles distant in the country. The best families were all +intimately associated in a social life that was cultivated and refined +at the same time that it was gay and unconventional; and in this +society Drake occupied a place which his lovable qualities and fine +talents must have won, even had it been denied him by birth. He was a +precocious boy, for whom a career was anticipated by his friends while +he was yet a mere child; and when he met Halleck, in his eighteenth +year, he had already won some reputation. + +The friendship of Drake and Halleck was destined to prove infinitely +valuable to both. A discussion between Cooper, Halleck, and Drake, +upon the poetic inspiration of American scenery, prompted Drake to +write 'The Culprit Fay'--a poem without any human character. This he +completed in three days, and offered it as the argument on his side. +The scene of the poem is laid in the Highlands of the Hudson, but +Drake added many pictures suggested by memories of Long Island Sound, +whose waters he haunted with boat and rod. He apologized for this by +saying that the purposes of poetry alone could explain the presence so +far up the Hudson of so many salt-water emigrants. 'The Culprit Fay' +is a creation of pure fancy, full of delicate imagery, and handled +with an ethereal lightness of touch. Its exquisite grace, its delicate +coloring, its prodigality of charm, explain its immediate popularity +and its lasting fame. But the Rip Van Winkle legend is a far more +genuine product of fancy. + +Drake's few shorter lyrics throb with genuine poetic feeling, and show +the loss sustained by literature in the author's early death. Best +known of these is 'The American Flag,' which appeared in the Evening +Post as one of a series of _jeux d'esprit_, the joint productions of +Halleck and Drake, who either alternated in the composition of the +numbers or wrote them together. The last four lines only of 'The +American Flag' are Halleck's. The entire series appeared between March +and July, 1819, under the signature of "The Croakers." Literary New +York was mystified as to the authorship of these skits, which hit off +the popular fads, follies, and enthusiasms of the day with so easy and +graceful a touch. Politics, music, the drama, and domestic life alike +furnished inspiration for the numbers; some of whose titles, as 'A +Sketch of a Debate in Tammany' and 'The Battery War,' suggest the +local political issues of the present day. There is now in existence a +handsome edition of these verses, with the names of the authors of the +several pieces appended, and in the case of the joint ownership with +the initials D. and H. subscribed. + +Drake's complete poems were not published during his lifetime. Sixteen +years after his death by consumption in his twenty-sixth year, his +daughter issued a volume dedicated to Halleck, in which were included +the best specimens of her father's work. Many of the lesser known +verses indicate his true place as a poet. In the touching poem +'Abelard to Eloise,' in the third stanza of 'The American Flag,' and +in innumerable beautiful lines scattered throughout his work, appears +a genuine inspiration. + +In his own day, Drake filled a place which his death left forever +vacant. His rare and winning personality, his generous friendships, +his joy in life, and his courage in the contemplation of his +inevitable fate, still appeal to a generation to whom they are but +traditions. The exquisite monody in which Halleck celebrated his loss, +links their names and decorates their friendship with imperishable +garlands. + + + +A WINTER'S TALE + +From 'The Croakers' + + "_A merry heart goes all the way, + A sad one tires in a mile-a._" + --WINTER'S TALE. + + + The man who frets at worldly strife + Grows sallow, sour, and thin; + Give us the lad whose happy life + Is one perpetual grin: + He, Midas-like, turns all to gold; + He smiles when others sigh; + Enjoys alike the hot and cold, + And laughs through wet and dry. + + There's fun in everything we meet; + The greatest, worst, and best + Existence is a merry treat, + And every speech a jest: + Be 't ours to watch the crowds that pass + Where mirth's gay banner waves; + To show fools through a quizzing glass, + And bastinade the knaves. + + The serious world will scold and ban, + In clamor loud and hard, + To hear Meigs[A] called a Congressman, + And Paulding called a bard: + But come what may, the man's in luck + Who turns it all to glee, + And laughing, cries with honest Puck, + "Good Lord! what fools ye be!" + + [A] Henry Meigs of New York, a Congressman from 1819 to 1821 + in the Sixteenth Congress. + + + +THE CULPRIT FAY + + My visual orbs are purged from film, and lo! + Instead of Anster's turnip-bearing vales, + I see old Fairyland's miraculous show! + Her trees of tinsel kissed by freakish gales, + Her ouphs that, cloaked in leaf-gold, skim the breeze, + And fairies, swarming.... + --TENNANT'S 'ANSTER FAIR' + + + 'Tis the middle watch of a summer's night-- + The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright; + Naught is seen in the vault on high + But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky, + And the flood which rolls its milky hue, + A river of light on the welkin blue. + The moon looks down on old Cronest; + She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, + And seems his huge gray form to throw + In a silver cone on the wave below; + His sides are broken by spots of shade, + By the walnut bough and the cedar made, + And through their clustering branches dark + Glimmers and dies the firefly's spark-- + Like starry twinkles that momently break + Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack. + + The stars are on the moving stream, + And fling, as its ripples gently flow, + A burnished length of wavy beam + In an eel-like, spiral line below; + The winds are whist, and the owl is still; + The bat in the shelvy rock is hid; + And naught is heard on the lonely hill + But the cricket's chirp, and the answer shrill + Of the gauze-winged katydid; + And the plaint of the wailing whippoorwill, + Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings. + Ever a note of wail and woe, + Till morning spreads her rosy wings, + And earth and sky in her glances glow. + + 'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell: + The wood-tick has kept the minutes well; + He has counted them all with click and stroke + Deep in the heart of the mountain oak, + And he has awakened the sentry elve + Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree, + To bid him ring the hour of twelve, + And call the fays to their revelry; + Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell-- + ('Twas made of the white snail's pearly shell) + "Midnight comes, and all is well! + Hither, hither, wing your way! + 'Tis the dawn of the fairy day." + + They come from beds of lichen green, + They creep from the mullein's velvet screen; + Some on the backs of beetles fly + From the silver tops of moon-touched trees, + Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high, + And rocked about in the evening breeze; + Some from the hum-bird's downy nest-- + They had driven him out by elfin power, + And pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast, + Had slumbered there till the charmèd hour; + Some had lain in the scoop of the rock, + With glittering ising-stars inlaid; + And some had opened the four-o'clock, + And stole within its purple shade. + And now they throng the moonlight glade, + Above, below, on every side, + Their little minim forms arrayed + In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride! + + They come not now to print the lea, + In freak and dance around the tree, + Or at the mushroom board to sup, + And drink the dew from the buttercup;-- + A scene of sorrow waits them now, + For an ouphe has broken his vestal vow; + He has loved an earthly maid, + And left for her his woodland shade; + He has lain upon her lip of dew, + And sunned him in her eye of blue, + Fanned her cheek with his wing of air, + Played in the ringlets of her hair, + And nestling on her snowy breast, + Forgot the lily-king's behest. + For this the shadowy tribes of air + To the elfin court must haste away: + And now they stand expectant there, + To hear the doom of the culprit fay. + + The throne was reared upon the grass, + Of spice-wood and of sassafras; + On pillars of mottled tortoise-shell + Hung the burnished canopy-- + And o'er it gorgeous curtains fell + Of the tulip's crimson drapery. + The monarch sat on his judgment seat; + On his brow the crown imperial shone; + The prisoner fay was at his feet, + And his peers were ranged around the throne. + He waved his sceptre in the air, + He looked around and calmly spoke; + His brow was grave and his eye severe, + But his voice in a softened accent broke:-- + + "Fairy! Fairy! list and mark: + Thou hast broke thine elfin chain; + Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark, + And thy wings are dyed with a deadly stain-- + Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity + In the glance of a mortal maiden's eye; + Thou hast scorned our dread decree, + And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high. + But well I know her sinless mind + Is pure as the angel forms above, + Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind, + Such as a spirit well might love; + Fairy! had she spot or taint, + Bitter had been thy punishment: + Tied to the hornet's shardy wings; + Tossed on the pricks of nettles' stings; + Or seven long ages doomed to dwell + With the lazy worm in the walnut-shell; + Or every night to writhe and bleed + Beneath the tread of the centipede; + Or bound in a cobweb dungeon dim, + Your jailer a spider, huge and grim, + Amid the carrion bodies to lie + Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered fly: + These it had been your lot to bear, + Had a stain been found on the earthly fair. + Now list, and mark our mild decree-- + Fairy, this your doom must be:-- + + "Thou shalt seek the beach of sand + Where the water bounds the elfin land; + Thou shalt watch the oozy brine + Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moonshine, + Then dart the glistening arch below, + And catch a drop from his silver bow. + The water-sprites will wield their arms + And dash around, with roar and rave, + And vain are the woodland spirits' charms; + They are the imps that rule the wave. + Yet trust thee in thy single might: + If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right, + Thou shalt win the warlock fight. + + "If the spray-bead gem be won, + The stain of thy wing is washed away; + But another errand must be done + Ere thy crime be lost for aye: + Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark,-- + Thou must re-illume its spark. + Mount thy steed and spur him high + To the heaven's blue canopy; + And when thou seest a shooting star, + Follow it fast, and follow it far-- + The last faint spark of its burning train + Shall light the elfin lamp again. + Thou hast heard our sentence, fay; + Hence! to the water-side, away!" + + The goblin marked his monarch well; + He spake not, but he bowed him low, + Then plucked a crimson colen-bell, + And turned him round in act to go. + The way is long; he cannot fly; + His soilèd wing has lost its power, + And he winds adown the mountain high + For many a sore and weary hour. + Through dreary beds of tangled fern, + Through groves of nightshade dark and dern, + Over the grass and through the brake, + Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake; + Now o'er the violet's azure flush + He skips along in lightsome mood; + And now he thrids the bramble-bush, + Till its points are dyed in fairy blood. + He has leaped the bog, he has pierced the brier, + He has swum the brook and waded the mire, + Till his spirits sank and his limbs grew weak, + And the red waxed fainter in his cheek. + He had fallen to the ground outright, + For rugged and dim was his onward track, + But there came a spotted toad in sight, + And he laughed as he jumped upon her back; + He bridled her mouth with a silkweed twist, + He lashed her sides with an osier thong. + And now, through evening's dewy mist, + With leap and spring they bound along, + Till the mountain's magic verge is past, + And the beach of sand is reached at last. + . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + Up, fairy! quit thy chickweed bower, + The cricket has called the second hour, + Twice again, and the lark will rise + To kiss the streaking of the skies-- + Up! thy charmèd armor don; + Thou'lt need it ere the night be gone. + + He put his acorn helmet on: + It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down; + The corselet plate that guarded his breast + Was once the wild bee's golden vest; + His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes, + Was formed of the wings of butterflies; + His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen, + Studs of gold on a ground of green; + And the quivering lance which he brandished bright + Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight. + Swift he bestrode his firefly steed; + He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue; + He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed, + And away like a glance of thought he flew, + To skim the heavens, and follow far + The fiery trail of the rocket-star. + + The moth-fly, as he shot in air, + Crept under the leaf and hid her there; + The katydid forgot its lay, + The prowling gnat fled fast away, + The fell mosquito checked his drone + And folded his wings till the fay was gone. + And the wily beetle dropped his head, + And fell on the ground as if he were dead; + They crouched them close in the darksome shade, + They quaked all o'er with awe and fear, + For they had felt the blue-bent blade, + And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear; + Many a time, on a summer's night, + When the sky was clear, and the moon was bright, + They had been roused from the haunted ground + By the yelp and bay of the fairy hound; + They had heard the tiny bugle-horn, + They had heard the twang of the maize-silk string, + When the vine-twig bows were tightly drawn, + And the needle-shaft through air was borne, + Feathered with down of the hum-bird's wing. + And now they deemed the courier ouphe + Some hunter-sprite of the elfin ground; + And they watched till they saw him mount the roof + That canopies the world around; + Then glad they left their covert lair, + And freaked about in the midnight air. + + Up to the vaulted firmament + His path the firefly courser bent, + And at every gallop on the wind, + He flung a glittering spark behind; + He flies like a feather in the blast + Till the first light cloud in heaven is past. + But the shapes of air have begun their work, + And a drizzly mist is round him cast; + He cannot see through the mantle murk; + He shivers with cold, but he urges fast; + Through storm and darkness, sleet and shade, + He lashes his steed, and spurs amain-- + For shadowy hands have twitched the rein, + And flame-shot tongues around him played, + And near him many a fiendish eye + Glared with a fell malignity, + And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear, + Came screaming on his startled ear. + + His wings are wet around his breast, + The plume hangs dripping from his crest, + His eyes are blurred with the lightning's glare, + And his ears are stunned with the thunder's blare. + But he gave a shout, and his blade he drew; + He thrust before and he struck behind, + Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through, + And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind; + Howling the misty spectres flew; + They rend the air with frightful cries; + For he has gained the welkin blue, + And the land of clouds beneath him lies. + + Up to the cope careering swift, + In breathless motion fast, + Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift, + Or the sea-roc rides the blast, + The sapphire sheet of eve is shot, + The sphered moon is past, + The earth but seems a tiny blot + On a sheet of azure cast. + Oh! it was sweet, in the clear moonlight, + To tread the starry plain of even! + To meet the thousand eyes of night, + And feel the cooling breath of heaven! + But the elfin made no stop or stay + Till he came to the bank of the Milky Way; + Then he checked his courser's foot, + And watched for the glimpse of the planet-shoot. + + Sudden along the snowy tide + That swelled to meet their footsteps' fall, + The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide, + Attired in sunset's crimson pall; + Around the fay they weave the dance, + They skip before him on the plain. + And one has taken his wasp-sting lance, + And one upholds his bridle rein; + With warblings wild they lead him on + To where, through clouds of amber seen, + Studded with stars, resplendent shone + The palace of the sylphid queen. + Its spiral columns, gleaming bright, + Were streamers of the northern light; + Its curtain's light and lovely flush + Was of the morning's rosy blush; + And the ceiling fair that rose aboon, + The white and feathery fleece of noon. + . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + Borne afar on the wings of the blast, + Northward away he speeds him fast, + And his courser follows the cloudy wain + Till the hoof-strokes fall like pattering rain. + The clouds roll backward as he flies. + Each flickering star behind him lies, + And he has reached the northern plain, + And backed his firefly steed again, + Ready to follow in its flight + The streaming of the rocket-light. + + The star is yet in the vault of heaven, + But it rocks in the summer gale, + And now 'tis fitful and uneven, + And now 'tis deadly pale; + And now 'tis wrapped in sulphur-smoke, + And quenched is its rayless beam; + And now with a rattling thunder-stroke + It bursts in flash and flame. + As swift as the glance of the arrowy lance + That the storm spirit flings from high, + The star-shot flew o'er the welkin blue, + As it fell from the sheeted sky. + As swift as the wind in its train behind + The elfin gallops along: + The fiends of the clouds are bellowing loud. + But the sylphid charm is strong; + He gallops unhurt in the shower of fire, + While the cloud-fiends fly from the blaze; + He watches each flake till its sparks expire, + And rides in the light of its rays. + + But he drove his steed to the lightning's speed, + And caught a glimmering spark; + Then wheeled around to the fairy ground, + And sped through the midnight dark. + . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + Ouphe and goblin! imp and sprite! + Elf of eve! and starry fay! + Ye that love the moon's soft light, + Hither, hither, wend your way; + Twine ye in a jocund ring, + Sing and trip it merrily, + Hand to hand, and wing to wing, + Round the wild witch-hazel tree. + + Hail the wanderer again + With dance and song, and lute and lyre; + Pure his wing and strong his chain, + And doubly bright his fairy fire. + Twine ye in an airy round, + Brush the dew and print the lea; + Skip and gambol, hop and bound, + Round the wild witch-hazel tree. + + The beetle guards our holy ground, + He flies about the haunted place, + And if mortal there be found, + He hums in his ears and flaps his face; + The leaf-harp sounds our roundelay, + The owlet's eyes our lanterns be; + Thus we sing and dance and play, + Round the wild witch-hazel tree. + + But hark! from tower on tree-top high, + The sentry elf his call has made; + A streak is in the eastern sky; + Shapes of moonlight! flit and fade! + The hill-tops gleam in Morning's spring, + The skylark shakes his dappled wing, + The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn,-- + The cock has crowed, and the fays are gone. + + + +THE AMERICAN FLAG + + + When Freedom from her mountain height + Unfurled her standard to the air, + She tore the azure robe of night, + And set the stars of glory there; + She mingled with its gorgeous dyes + The milky baldric of the skies, + And striped its pure celestial white + With streakings of the morning light; + Then from his mansion in the sun + She called her eagle-bearer down, + And gave unto his mighty hand + The symbol of her chosen land. + + Majestic monarch of the cloud! + Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, + To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, + And see the lightning lances driven, + When strive the warriors of the storm, + And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven-- + Child of the sun! to thee 'tis given + To guard the banner of the free, + To hover in the sulphur-smoke, + To ward away the battle-stroke, + And bid its blendings shine afar, + Like rainbows on the cloud of war, + The harbingers of victory! + + Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, + The sign of hope and triumph high, + When speaks the signal trumpet-tone, + And the long line comes gleaming on: + Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, + Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, + Each soldier eye shall brightly turn + To where the sky-born glories burn, + And as his springing steps advance, + Catch war and vengeance from the glance; + And when the cannon-mouthings loud + Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, + And gory sabres rise and fall, + Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall;-- + Then shall thy meteor-glances glow, + And cowering foes shall sink beneath + Each gallant arm that strikes below + That lovely messenger of death. + + Flag of the seas! on ocean wave + Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; + When death, careering on the gale, + Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, + And frighted waves rush wildly back + Before the broadside's reeling rack, + Each dying wanderer of the sea + Shall look at once to heaven and thee, + And smile to see thy splendors fly + In triumph o'er his closing eye. + + Flag of the free heart's hope and home! + By angel hands to valor given; + Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, + And all thy hues were born in heaven. + Forever float that standard sheet! + Where breathes the foe but falls before us, + With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, + And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us! + + + + +JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER + +(1811-1882) + +[Illustration: JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER] + + +The subject of this sketch was born at St. Helen's, near Liverpool, +England, on the 5th of May, 1811. His earliest education was obtained +at a Wesleyan Methodist school, but after a time he came under private +teachers, with whose help he made rapid progress in the physical +sciences, thus showing in his boyhood the natural bent of his mind and +the real strength of his intellect. He afterwards studied for a time +at the University of London, but in 1833 came to the United States, +and three years later graduated at the University of Pennsylvania with +the degree of M. D. In 1839 he was elected to the chair of chemistry +in the University of New York, a position which he held until his +death in 1882. + +Draper's contributions to science were of a high order. He discovered +some of the facts that lie at the basis of spectrum analysis; he was +one of the first successful experimenters in the art of photography; +and he made researches in radiant energy and other scientific +phenomena. He published in 1858 a treatise on 'Human Physiology,' +which is a highly esteemed and widely used text-book. He died on the +4th of January, 1882. + +Draper's chief contributions to literature are three works: 'History +of the Intellectual Development of Europe' (1863), a 'History of the +American Civil War' (1867-1870), and 'The History of the Conflict +between Religion and Science,' which appeared in the International +Scientific Series in 1873. Of these works, the one on the intellectual +development of Europe is the ablest, and takes a place beside the +works of Lecky and Buckle as a contribution to the history of +civilization. The history of the Civil War was written too soon after +the events described to have permanent historical value. 'The History +of the Conflict between Religion and Science' is a judicial +presentation of the perennial controversy from the standpoint of the +scientist. + +Draper's claims to attention as a philosophic historian rest mainly on +his theory of the influence of climate on human character and +development. He maintains that "For every climate, and indeed for +every geographical locality, there is an answering type of humanity"; +and in his history of the American Civil War, as well as in his work +on the intellectual development of Europe, he endeavored to prove that +doctrine. Another theory which is prominent in his principal work is, +that the intellectual development of every people passes through five +stages; namely, 1, the Age of Credulity; 2, the Age of Inquiry; 3, the +Age of Faith; 4, the Age of Reason; 5, the Age of Decrepitude. Ancient +Greece, he thinks, passed through all those stages, the age of reason +beginning with the advent of physical science. Europe as a whole has +now also entered the age of reason, which as before he identifies with +the age of physical science; so that everywhere in his historical +works, physical influences and the scientific knowledge of physical +phenomena are credited with most of the progress that mankind has +made. Draper has left a distinct mark upon the scientific thought of +his generation, and made a distinct and valuable contribution to the +literature of his adopted country. + + + +THE VEDAS AND THEIR THEOLOGY + +From 'History of the Intellectual Development of Europe.' Copyright +1876, by Harper & Brothers + + +The Vedas, which are the Hindu Scriptures, and of which there are +four,--the Rig, Yagust, Saman, and Atharvan,--are asserted to have +been revealed by Brahma. The fourth is however rejected by some +authorities, and bears internal evidence of a later composition, at a +time when hierarchical power had become greatly consolidated. These +works are written in an obsolete Sanskrit, the parent of the more +recent idiom. They constitute the basis of an extensive literature, +Upavedas, Angas, etc., of connected works and commentaries. For the +most part they consist of hymns suitable for public and private +occasions, prayers, precepts, legends, and dogmas. The Rig, which is +the oldest, is composed chiefly of hymns; the other three of +liturgical formulas. They are of different periods and of various +authorship, internal evidence seeming to indicate that if the later +were composed by priests, the earlier were the production of military +chieftains. They answer to a state of society advanced from the nomad +to the municipal condition. They are based upon an acknowledgment of a +universal Spirit, pervading all things. Of this God they therefore +necessarily acknowledge the unity: "There is in truth but one Deity, +the Supreme Spirit, the Lord of the universe, whose work is the +universe." "The God above all gods, who created the earth, the +heavens, and waters." The world, thus considered as an emanation of +God, is therefore a part of him; it is kept in a visible state by his +energy, and would instantly disappear if that energy were for a moment +withdrawn. Even as it is, it is undergoing unceasing transformations, +everything being in a transitory condition. The moment a given phase +is reached, it is departed from, or ceases. In these perpetual +movements the present can scarcely be said to have any existence, for +as the Past is ending, the Future has begun. + +In such a never-ceasing career all material things are urged, their +forms continually changing, and returning as it were through revolving +cycles to similar states. For this reason it is that we may regard our +earth and the various celestial bodies as having had a moment of +birth, as having a time of continuance, in which they are passing +onward to an inevitable destruction; and that after the lapse of +countless ages similar progresses will be made, and similar series of +events will occur again and again. + +But in this doctrine of universal transformation there is something +more than appears at first. The theology of India is underlaid with +Pantheism. "God is One because he is All." The Vedas, in speaking of +the relation of nature to God, make use of the expression that he is +the material as well as the cause of the universe, "the clay as well +as the Potter." They convey the idea that while there is a pervading +spirit existing everywhere, of the same nature as the soul of man, +though differing from it infinitely in degree, visible nature is +essentially and inseparably connected therewith; that as in man the +body is perpetually undergoing changes, perpetually decaying and being +renewed,--or as in the case of the whole human species, nations come +into existence and pass away,--yet still there continues to exist what +may be termed the universal human mind, so forever associated and +forever connected are the material and the spiritual. And under this +aspect we must contemplate the Supreme Being, not merely as a +presiding intellect, but as illustrated by the parallel case of man, +whose mental principle shows no tokens except through its connection +with the body: so matter, or nature, or the visible universe, is to be +looked upon as the corporeal manifestation of God. + + + +PRIMITIVE BELIEFS DISMISSED BY SCIENTIFIC KNOWLEDGE + +From 'History of the Intellectual Development of Europe.' Copyright +1876, by Harper & Brothers + + +As man advances in knowledge, he discovers that of his primitive +conclusions some are doubtless erroneous, and many require better +evidence to establish their truth incontestably. A more prolonged and +attentive examination gives him reason, in some of the most important +particulars, to change his mind. He finds that the earth on which he +lives is not a floor covered over with a starry dome, as he once +supposed, but a globe self-balanced in space. The crystalline vault, +or sky, is recognized to be an optical deception. It rests upon the +earth nowhere, and is no boundary at all; there is no kingdom of +happiness above it, but a limitless space adorned with planets and +suns. Instead of a realm of darkness and woe in the depths on the +other side of the earth, men like ourselves are found there, pursuing, +in Australia and New Zealand, the innocent pleasures and encountering +the ordinary labors of life. By the aid of such lights as knowledge +gradually supplies, he comes at last to discover that this our +terrestrial habitation, instead of being a chosen, a sacred spot, is +only one of similar myriads, more numerous than the sands of the sea, +and prodigally scattered through space. + +Never, perhaps, was a more important truth discovered. All the visible +evidence was in direct opposition to it. The earth, which had hitherto +seemed to be the very emblem of immobility, was demonstrated to be +carried with a double motion, with prodigious velocity, through the +heavens; the rising and setting of the stars were proved to be an +illusion; and as respects the size of the globe, it was shown to be +altogether insignificant when compared with multitudes of other +neighboring ones--insignificant doubly by reason of its actual +dimensions, and by the countless numbers of others like it in form, +and doubtless like it the abodes of many orders of life. + +And so it turns out that our earth is a globe of about twenty-five +thousand miles in circumference. The voyager who circumnavigates it +spends no inconsiderable portion of his life in accomplishing his +task. It moves round the sun in a year, but at so great a distance +from that luminary that if seen from him, it would look like a little +spark traversing the sky. It is thus recognized as one of the members +of the solar system. Other similar bodies, some of which are of +larger, some of smaller dimensions, perform similar revolutions round +the sun in appropriate periods of time. + +If the magnitude of the earth be too great for us to attach to it any +definite conception, what shall we say of the compass of the solar +system? There is a defect in the human intellect, which incapacitates +us for comprehending distances and periods that are either too +colossal or too minute. We gain no clearer insight into the matter, +when we are told that a comet which does not pass beyond the bounds of +the system may perhaps be absent on its journey for more than a +thousand years. Distances and periods such as these are beyond our +grasp. They prove to us how far human reason excels imagination; the +one measuring and comparing things of which the other can form no +conception, but in the attempt is utterly bewildered and lost. + +But as there are other globes like our earth, so too there are other +worlds like our solar system. There are self-luminous suns, exceeding +in number all computation. The dimensions of this earth pass into +nothingness in comparison with the dimensions of the solar system, and +that system in its turn is only an invisible point if placed in +relation with the countless hosts of other systems, which form with it +clusters of stars. Our solar system, far from being alone in the +universe, is only one of an extensive brotherhood, bound by common +laws and subject to like influences. Even on the very verge of +creation, where imagination might lay the beginning of the realms of +chaos, we see unbounded proofs of order, a regularity in the +arrangement of inanimate things, suggesting to us that there are other +intellectual creatures like us, the tenants of those islands in the +abysses of space. + +Though it may take a beam of light a million years to bring to our +view those distant worlds, the end is not yet. Far away in the depths +of space we catch the faint gleams of other groups of stars like our +own. The finger of a man can hide them in their remoteness. Their vast +distances from one another have dwindled into nothing. They and their +movements have lost all individuality; the innumerable suns of which +they are composed blend all their collected light into one pale milky +glow. + +Thus extending our view from the earth to the solar system, from the +solar system to the expanse of the group of stars to which we belong, +we behold a series of gigantic nebular creations rising up one after +another, and forming greater and greater colonies of worlds. No +numbers can express them, for they make the firmament a haze of stars. +Uniformity, even though it be the uniformity of magnificence, tires at +last, and we abandon the survey; for our eyes can only behold a +boundless prospect, and conscience tells us our own unspeakable +insignificance. + +But what has become of the time-honored doctrine of the human destiny +of the universe?--that doctrine for the sake of which the controversy +I have described in this chapter was raised? It has disappeared. In +vain was Bruno burnt and Galileo imprisoned; the truth forced its way, +in spite of all opposition, at last. The end of the conflict was a +total rejection of authority and tradition, and the adoption of +scientific truth. + + + +THE KORAN + +From 'History of the Intellectual Development of Europe.' Copyright +1876, by Harper & Brothers + + +Arabian influence, thus imposing itself on Africa and Asia by +military successes, and threatening even Constantinople, rested +essentially on an intellectual basis, the value of which it is needful +for us to consider. The Koran, which is that basis, has exercised a +great control over the destinies of mankind, and still serves as a +rule of life to a very large portion of our race. Considering the +asserted origin of this book,--indirectly from God himself,--we might +justly expect that it would bear to be tried by any standard that man +can apply, and vindicate its truth and excellence in the ordeal of +human criticism. In our estimate of it, we must constantly bear in +mind that it does not profess to be successive revelations made at +intervals of ages and on various occasions, but a complete production +delivered to one man. We ought therefore to look for universality, +completeness, perfection. We might expect that it would present us +with just views of the nature and position of this world in which we +live, and that whether dealing with the spiritual or the material, it +would put to shame the most celebrated productions of human genius, as +the magnificent mechanism of the heavens and the beautiful living +forms of the earth are superior to the vain contrivances of man. Far +in advance of all that has been written by the sages of India, or the +philosophers of Greece, on points connected with the origin, nature, +and destiny of the universe, its dignity of conception and excellence +of expression should be in harmony with the greatness of the subject +with which it is concerned. + + [Illustration: _AFRICAN ARABIC MANUSCRIPT._ + + Thirteenth Century. National Library, Paris. + + Reduced fac-simile of part of a page of an Arabic Koran, in + the African character, captured at Tunis by Charles V. + + The scribes of the East are distinguished by their efforts to + acquire a perfect style of execution; and their success + merits the greater praise, since they generally stand while + writing, resting only on the left arm; and notwithstanding + the inferiority of the reed to the modern pen, the Arabs have + succeeded in producing the most excellent specimens of + calligraphy.] + +We might expect that it should propound with authority, and +definitively settle, those all-important problems which have exercised +the mental powers of the ablest men of Asia and Europe for so many +centuries, and which are at the foundation of all faith and all +philosophy; that it should distinctly tell us in unmistakable language +what is God, what is the world, what is the soul, and whether man has +any criterion of truth; that it should explain to us how evil can +exist in a world the Maker of which is omnipotent and altogether good; +that it should reveal to us in what the affairs of men are fixed by +Destiny, in what by free-will; that it should teach us whence we came, +what is the object of our continuing here, what is to become of us +hereafter. And since a written work claiming a divine origin must +necessarily accredit itself even to those most reluctant to receive +it, its internal evidences becoming stronger and not weaker with the +strictness of the examination to which they are submitted, it ought to +deal with those things that may be demonstrated by the increasing +knowledge and genius of man; anticipating therein his conclusions. + +Such a work, noble as may be its origin, must not refuse but court the +test of natural philosophy, regarding it not as an antagonist but as +its best support. As years pass on, and human science becomes more +exact and more comprehensive, its conclusions must be found in unison +therewith. When occasion arises, it should furnish us at least the +foreshadowings of the great truths discovered by astronomy and +geology, not offering for them the wild fictions of earlier ages, +inventions of the infancy of man. It should tell us how suns and +worlds are distributed in infinite space, and how in their successions +they come forth in limitless time. It should say how far the dominion +of God is carried out by law, and what is the point at which it is his +pleasure to resort to his own good providence or his arbitrary will. +How grand the description of this magnificent universe, written by the +Omnipotent hand! Of man it should set forth his relations to other +living beings, his place among them, his privileges and +responsibilities. It should not leave him to grope his way through the +vestiges of Greek philosophy, and to miss the truth at last; but it +should teach him wherein true knowledge consists, anticipating the +physical science, physical power, and physical well-being of our own +times, nay, even unfolding for our benefit things that we are still +ignorant of. The discussion of subjects so many and so high is not +outside the scope of a work of such pretensions. Its manner of dealing +with them is the only criterion it can offer of its authenticity to +succeeding times. + +Tried by such a standard, the Koran altogether fails. In its +philosophy it is incomparably inferior to the writings of Chakia +Mouni, the founder of Buddhism; in its science it is absolutely +worthless. On speculative or doubtful things it is copious enough; but +in the exact, where a test can be applied to it, it totally fails. Its +astronomy, cosmogony, physiology, are so puerile as to invite our +mirth, if the occasion did not forbid. They belong to the old times of +the world, the morning of human knowledge. The earth is firmly +balanced in its seat by the weight of the mountains; the sky is +supported over it like a dome, and we are instructed in the wisdom and +power of God by being told to find a crack in it if we can. Ranged in +stories, seven in number, are the heavens, the highest being the +habitation of God, whose throne--for the Koran does not reject +Assyrian ideas--is sustained by winged animal forms. The shooting +stars are pieces of red-hot stone, thrown by angels at impure spirits +when they approach too closely. Of God the Koran is full of praise, +setting forth, often in not unworthy imagery, his majesty. Though it +bitterly denounces those who give him any equals, and assures them +that their sin will never be forgiven; that in the Judgment Day they +must answer the fearful question, "Where are my companions about whom +ye disputed?"--though it inculcates an absolute dependence on the +mercy of God, and denounces as criminals all those who make a +merchandise of religion,--its ideas of the Deity are altogether +anthropomorphic. He is only a gigantic man, living in a paradise. In +this respect, though exceptional passages might be cited, the reader +rises from a perusal of the one hundred and fourteen chapters of the +Koran with a final impression that they have given him low and +unworthy thoughts; nor is it surprising that one of the Mohammedan +sects reads it in such a way as to find no difficulty in asserting +that "from the crown of the head to the breast God is hollow, and +from the breast downward he is solid;" that he "has curled black hair, +and roars like a lion at every watch of the night." The unity asserted +by Mohammed is a unity in special contradistinction to the Trinity of +the Christians, and the doctrine of a Divine generation. Our Savior is +never called the Son of God, but always the Son of Mary. Throughout +there is a perpetual acceptance of the delusion of the human destiny +of the universe. As to man, Mohammed is diffuse enough respecting a +future state, speaking with clearness of a resurrection, the Judgment +Day, Paradise, the torment of hell, the worm that never dies, the +pains that never end; but with all this precise description of the +future, there are many errors as to the past. If modesty did not +render it unsuitable to speak of such topics here, it might be shown +how feeble is his physiology when he has occasion to allude to the +origin or generation of man. He is hardly advanced beyond the ideas of +Thales. One who is so untrustworthy a guide as to things that are past +cannot be very trustworthy as to events that are to come. + +Of the literary execution of his work, it is perhaps scarcely possible +to judge fairly from a translation. It is said to be the oldest prose +composition among the Arabs, by whom Mohammed's boast of the +unapproachable excellence of his work is almost universally sustained; +but it must not be concealed that there have been among them very +learned men who have held it in light esteem. Its most celebrated +passages, as those on the nature of God, in Chapters ii., xxiv., will +bear no comparison with parallel ones in the Psalms and Book of Job. +In the narrative style, the story of Joseph in Chapter xii., compared +with the same incidents related in Genesis, shows a like inferiority. +Mohammed also adulterates his work with many Christian legends, +derived probably from the apocryphal gospel of St. Barnabas; he mixes +with many of his own inventions the Scripture account of the +temptation of Adam, the Deluge, Jonah and the whale, enriching the +whole with stories like the later Night Entertainments of his country, +the seven sleepers, Gog and Magog, and all the wonders of genii, +sorcery, and charms. + +An impartial reader of the Koran may doubtless be surprised that so +feeble a production should serve its purpose so well. But the theory +of religion is one thing, the practice another. The Koran abounds in +excellent moral suggestions and precepts; its composition is so +fragmentary that we cannot turn to a single page without finding +maxims of which all men must approve. This fragmentary construction +yields texts and mottoes and rules complete in themselves, suitable +for common men in any of the incidents of life. There is a perpetual +insisting on the necessity of prayer, an inculcation of mercy, +almsgiving, justice, fasting, pilgrimage, and other good works; +institutions respecting conduct, both social and domestic, debts, +witnesses, marriage, children, wine, and the like; above all, a +constant stimulation to do battle with the infidel and blasphemer. For +life as it passes in Asia, there is hardly a condition in which +passages from the Koran cannot be recalled suitable for instruction, +admonition, consolation, encouragement. To the Asiatic and to the +African, such devotional fragments are of far more use than any +sustained theological doctrine. The mental constitution of Mohammed +did not enable him to handle important philosophical questions with +the well-balanced ability of the great Greek and Indian writers; but +he has never been surpassed in adaptation to the spiritual wants of +humble life, making even his fearful fatalism administer thereto. A +pitiless destiny is awaiting us; yet the prophet is uncertain what it +may be. "Unto every nation a fixed time is decreed. Death will +overtake us even in lofty towers, but God only knoweth the place in +which a man shall die." After many an admonition of the resurrection +and the Judgment Day, many a promise of Paradise and threat of hell, +he plaintively confesses, "I do not know what will be done with you or +me hereafter." + +The Koran thus betrays a human and not a very noble intellectual +origin. It does not however follow that its author was, as is so often +asserted, a mere impostor. He reiterates again and again, "I am +nothing more than a public preacher." He defends, not always without +acerbity, his work from those who even in his own life stigmatized it +as a confused heap of dreams, or what is worse, a forgery. He is not +the only man who has supposed himself to be the subject of +supernatural and divine communications, for this is a condition of +disease to which any one, by fasting and mental anxiety, may be +reduced. + +In what I have thus said respecting a work held by so many millions of +men as a revelation from God, I have endeavored to speak with respect +and yet with freedom, constantly bearing in mind how deeply to this +book Asia and Africa are indebted for daily guidance, how deeply +Europe and America for the light of science. + +As might be expected, the doctrines of the Koran have received many +fictitious additions and sectarian interpretations in the course of +ages. In the popular superstition angels and genii largely figure. The +latter, being of a grosser fabric, eat, drink, propagate their kind, +are of two sorts, good and bad, and existed long before men, having +occupied the earth before Adam. Immediately after death, two greenish +livid angels, Monkir and Nekkar, examine every corpse as to its faith +in God and Mohammed; but the soul, having been separated from the body +by the angel of death, enters upon an intermediate state, awaiting the +resurrection. There is however much diversity of opinion as to its +precise disposal before the Judgment Day: some think that it hovers +near the grave; some, that it sinks into the well Zemzem; some, that +it retires into the trumpet of the angel of the resurrection; the +difficulty apparently being that any final disposal before the Day of +Judgment would be anticipatory of that great event, if indeed it would +not render it needless. As to the resurrection, some believe it to be +merely spiritual, others corporeal; the latter asserting that the _os +coccygis_, or last bone of the spinal column, will serve as it were as +a germ; and that, vivified by a rain of forty days, the body will +sprout from it. Among the signs of the approaching resurrection will +be the rising of the sun in the west. It will be ushered in by three +blasts of a trumpet: the first, known as the blast of consternation, +will shake the earth to its centre, and extinguish the sun and stars; +the second, the blast of extermination, will annihilate all material +things except Paradise, hell, and the throne of God. Forty years +subsequently, the angel Israfil will sound the blast of resurrection. +From his trumpet there will be blown forth the countless myriads of +souls who have taken refuge therein, or lain concealed. The Day of +Judgment has now come. The Koran contradicts itself as to the length +of this day; in one place making it a thousand, in another fifty +thousand years. Most Mohammedans incline to adopt the longer period, +since angels, genii, men, and animals have to be tried. + +As to men, they will rise in their natural state, but naked; +white-winged camels, with saddles of gold, awaiting the saved. When +the partition is made, the wicked will be oppressed with an +intolerable heat, caused by the sun, which, having been called into +existence again, will approach within a mile, provoking a sweat to +issue from them; and this, according to their demerits, will immerse +them from the ankles to the mouth; but the righteous will be screened +by the shadow of the throne of God. The Judge will be seated in the +clouds, the books open before him, and everything in its turn called +on to account for its deeds. For greater dispatch, the angel Gabriel +will hold forth his balance, one scale of which hangs over Paradise +and one over hell. In these all works are weighed. As soon as the +sentence is delivered, the assembly, in a long file, will pass over +the bridge Al-Sirat. It is as sharp as the edge of a sword, and laid +over the mouth of hell. Mohammed and his followers will successfully +pass the perilous ordeal; but the sinners, giddy with terror, will +drop into the place of torment. The blessed will receive their first +taste of happiness at a pond which is supplied by silver pipes from +the river Al-Cawthor. The soil of Paradise is of musk. Its rivers +tranquilly flow over pebbles of rubies and emeralds. From tents of +hollow pearls the Houris, or girls of Paradise, will come forth, +attended by troops of beautiful boys. Each saint will have eighty +thousand servants and seventy-two girls. To these, some of the more +merciful Mussulmans add the wives they have had upon earth; but the +grimly orthodox assert that hell is already nearly filled with women. +How can it be otherwise, since they are not permitted to pray in a +mosque upon earth? + +I have not space to describe the silk brocades, the green clothing, +the soft carpets, the banquets, the perpetual music and songs. From +the glorified body all impurities will escape, not as they did during +life, but in a fragrant perspiration of camphor and musk. No one will +complain, "I am weary;" no one will say, "I am sick.". + +From the contradictions, puerilities, and impossibilities indicated in +the preceding paragraphs, it may be anticipated that the faith of +Mohammed has been broken into many sects. Of such it is said that not +less than seventy-three may be numbered. Some, as the Sonnites, are +guided by traditions; some occupy themselves with philosophical +difficulties,--the existence of evil in the world, the attributes of +God, absolute predestination and eternal damnation, the invisibility +and non-corporeality of God, his capability of local motion.... But +the great Mohammedan philosophers, simply accepting the doctrine of +the oneness of God as the only thing of which man can be certain, look +upon all the rest as idle fables--having however this political use: +that they furnish contention and therefore occupation to disputatious +sectarians, and consolation to illiterate minds. + + + + +MICHAEL DRAYTON + +(1563-1631) + +[Illustration: MICHAEL DRAYTON] + + +While London still crowded to the new "Theatre" in Shoreditch, the +first built in England; while Ben Jonson was still soldiering in the +Low Countries; while Marlowe was working out the tragedy that was to +revolutionize all stage traditions, and Shakespeare was yet but a +"looker-on at greatness,"--there came up from Warwickshire a young man +of good family who had served as page in a noble house, who had +studied possibly at Oxford, and who in the first flush of manhood +aspired to a place among those prodigies who made the later +Elizabethan period immortal. This was Michael Drayton, whose gentle +birth and breeding, education and talents, knowledge of the world and +of men, together with a most sweet and lovable disposition, made him +at once welcome in the literary Bohemia of the day. He became the +"deare and bosom friend" of Beaumont and Fletcher, and his work +received unquestioned honor from his illustrious contemporaries. + +As a child he had demanded of his elders to know what kind of beings +poets were, had spent many hours in writing childishly fantastic +verses, and had begged of his tutor to make a poet of him. And +although he seems to have been poor and to have lived by the gifts of +wealthy patrons, he cast in his lot with literature, and cherished no +other ambition than that of writing well. His first book, a volume of +spiritual poems, or metrical renderings of the Bible, was published in +1590 under the title 'The Harmony of the Church.' It is difficult to +see why this commonplace and orthodox performance should have given +such umbrage that the Archbishop of Canterbury condemned the entire +edition to destruction. Yet this was its fate, with the exception of +forty copies which Archbishop Whitgift ordered to be reserved for the +ecclesiastical library at Lambeth Palace. Undiscouraged, the poet next +produced a cycle of sixty-four sonnets and a collection of pastorals +entitled 'Idea: the Shepherd's Garland,' in which under the name +"Rowland" he celebrated an early love. It is strange that the +intrinsic merit of these verses, and their undoubted popularity, +should not have urged Drayton to continue in the same vein. Instead, +however, he set about the composition of a series of historical poems +which extended over the next twenty-four years, and to which he gave +the best energies of his life. Beginning with the epic 'Matilda,' +studied from English history, the series was continued by a poem on +the 'Wars of the Roses,' afterward enlarged into 'The Barons' Wars.' +This was followed by the epic 'Robert, Duke of Normandy.' Destitute of +imagination, prolix and tedious, these verses were yet so popular in +Drayton's day that in 1612 he began the publication of a poem in +thirty books, meant to include the entire chronology and topography of +Great Britain, from the earliest times. This was the famous +'Poly-Olbion,' in which, in spite of the inspiring work of his +contemporaries, Drayton harked back in spirit to the dreary monotony +of the Saxon Chronicle; the detail is so minute, the matter so +unimportant, and the absence of discrimination so apparent, that +notwithstanding many noticeable beauties of thought and style, it is +hard to realize that this poem was a favorite with that brilliant +group which had known Shakespeare, and still delighted in Ben Jonson. +After issuing eighteen books of 'Poly-Olbion,' his publishers--with +whom he was always quarreling, and whom he declared that he "despised +and kicked at"--refused to undertake the remaining twelve books of the +second part. His friends, however, loyal in their love and praise of +him, secured a more complaisant tradesman to bring out the rest of the +already famous poem. + +Fortunately for his fame, Drayton had in the mean time produced two +other volumes of verse, which displayed the real grace and +fancifulness of his charming muse. The first of these, 'Poems Lyrical +and Pastoral,' included the satire 'The Man in the Moon'; while in the +second were printed the 'Ballad of Agincourt,' the most spirited of +English martial lyrics, and that delightful fantasy 'Nymphidia, or the +Court of Faery,' in which the touch is so light, the fancy so dainty, +and the conceit so delicate, that the poem remains immortally fresh +and young. Because everybody wrote plays, Drayton turned playwright, +and is said to have collaborated with Massinger and Ford. Of his long +works, the 'Heroicall Episodes' is perhaps the most readable. His last +effort was 'The Muses' Elizium,' published in 1630. A year later he +died, and was buried in Westminster, where a monument was erected to +him by the Countess of Dorset. + +Drayton's place in English literature is with that considerable and +not unimportant band who have done somewhat, but whose repute is much +more for what they were in their friends' eyes than for what they did. +In an age of great intellectual achievement, he yet managed, in spite +of the stimulus of kindred minds and his own undoubted gift, to +produce little that has sustained the reputation accorded him by his +acquaintances. Most of his work lives chiefly to afford pleasing +studies for the literary antiquary, to whom the tide of time brings +nothing uninteresting. Yet in the art of living, in the unselfish +devotion of his powers to his chosen calling, in the graces of +affection and the offices of noble friendship, he was so excellent and +exemplary that he won and kept the undying regard of the most able men +of the most brilliant period of English literature--men who felt a +personal and unrequitable loss when he passed away, and who spoke of +him always with admiring tenderness. + +In person he seems to have been small and dark. He describes himself +as of "swart and melancholy face." Yet his talk was most delightful, +and a strong proof of his wide popularity appears in the fact that he +is quoted not less than one hundred and fifty times in 'England's +Parnassus,' published as early as 1600. The tributes of his friends +are innumerable, from the "good Rowland" of Barnfield to the +"golden-mouthed Drayton, musicall," of Fitz-Geoffrey, the "man of +vertuous disposition, honest conversation, and well-preserved +carriage" of Meres, or the tender lines of his friend Ben Jonson:-- + + "Do, pious marble, let thy readers know + What they and what their children owe + To Drayton's name; whose sacred dust + We recommend unto thy trust. + Protect his memory, and preserve his story, + Remain a lasting monument of his glory. + And when thy ruins shall disclaim + To be the treasurer of his name, + His name, that cannot die, shall be + An everlasting monument to thee." + + + +SONNET + + + Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part,-- + Nay, I have done, you get no more of me; + And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, + That thus so clearly I myself can free: + Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, + And when we meet at any time again, + Be it not seen in either of our brows + That we one jot of former love retain. + Now, at the last gasp of Love's latest breath. + When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, + When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, + And Innocence is closing up his eyes,-- + Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, + From death to life thou mightst him yet recover! + + + +THE BALLAD OF AGINCOURT + + + Fair stood the wind for France, + When we our sails advance, + Nor now to prove our chance + Longer will tarry; + But putting to the main, + At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, + With all his martial train, + Landed King Harry. + + And taking many a fort, + Furnished in warlike sort, + Marched towards Agincourt + In happy hour-- + Skirmishing day by day + With those that stopped his way, + Where the French gen'ral lay + With all his power. + + Which in his height of pride, + King Henry to deride, + His ransom to provide + To the King sending; + Which he neglects the while, + As from a nation vile, + Yet, with an angry smile, + Their fall portending. + + And turning to his men, + Quoth our brave Henry then:-- + "Though they to one be ten, + Be not amazed; + Yet have we well begun-- + Battles so bravely won + Have ever to the sun + By fame been raised. + + "And for myself," quoth he, + "This my full rest shall be; + England ne'er mourn for me, + Nor more esteem me; + Victor I will remain, + Or on this earth lie slain; + Never shall she sustain + Loss to redeem me. + + "Poitiers and Cressy tell, + When most their pride did swell, + Under our swords they fell; + No less our skill is + Than when our grandsire great, + Claiming the regal seat, + By many a warlike feat + Lopped the French lilies." + + The Duke of York so dread + The eager vaward led; + With the main Henry sped, + Amongst his henchmen. + Excester had the rear-- + A braver man not there: + O Lord! how hot they were + On the false Frenchmen! + + They now to fight are gone; + Armor on armor shone; + Drum now to drum did groan-- + To hear was wonder; + That with the cries they make + The very earth did shake; + Trumpet to trumpet spake, + Thunder to thunder. + + Well it thine age became, + O noble Erpingham! + Which did the signal aim + To our hid forces; + When from a meadow by, + Like a storm suddenly, + The English archery + Struck the French horses, + + With Spanish yew so strong, + Arrows a cloth-yard long, + That like to serpents stung, + Piercing the weather; + None from his fellow starts, + But playing manly parts, + And like true English hearts, + Stuck close together. + + When down their bows they threw, + And forth their bilbows drew, + And on the French they flew, + Not one was tardy; + Arms were from shoulders sent; + Scalps to the teeth were rent; + Down the French peasants went;-- + Our men were hardy. + + This while our noble king, + His broadsword brandishing, + Down the French host did ding, + As to o'erwhelm it; + And many a deep wound lent, + His arm with blood besprent, + And many a cruel dent + Bruisèd his helmet. + + Glo'ster, that duke so good, + Next of the royal blood, + For famous England stood, + With his brave brother-- + Clarence, in steel so bright, + Though but a maiden knight, + Yet in that furious fight + Scarce such another. + + Warwick in blood did wade; + Oxford the foe invade, + And cruel slaughter made, + Still as they ran up. + Suffolk his axe did ply; + Beaumont and Willoughby + Bare them right doughtily, + Ferrers and Fanhope. + + Upon Saint Crispin's day + Fought was this noble fray, + Which fame did not delay + To England to carry; + Oh, when shall Englishmen + With such acts fill a pen, + Or England breed again + Such a King Harry? + + + +QUEEN MAB'S EXCURSION + +From 'Nymphidia, the Court of Faery' + + + Her chariot ready straight is made; + Each thing therein is fitting laid, + That she by nothing might be stay'd, + For naught must her be letting: + Four nimble gnats the horses were, + The harnesses of gossamer, + Fly Cranion, her charioteer, + Upon the coach-box getting. + + Her chariot of a snail's fine shell, + Which for the colors did excel,-- + The fair Queen Mab becoming well, + So lively was the limning; + The seat the soft wool of the bee. + The cover (gallantly to see) + The wing of a py'd butterflee,-- + I trow, 'twas simple trimming. + + The wheels composed of crickets' bones, + And daintily made for the nonce; + For fear of rattling on the stones, + With thistle-down they shod it: + For all her maidens much did fear, + If Oberon had chanced to hear + That Mab his queen should have been there, + He would not have abode it. + + She mounts her chariot with a trice, + Nor would she stay for no advice, + Until her maids, that were so nice, + To wait on her were fitted, + But ran away herself alone; + Which when they heard, there was not one + But hasted after to be gone, + As she had been diswitted. + + Hop, and Mop, and Drap so clear, + Pip, and Trip, and Skip, that were + To Mab their sovereign dear, + Her special maids of honor; + Fib, and Tib, and Pinck, and Pin, + Tick, and Quick, and Jill, and Jin, + Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Win, + The train that wait upon her. + + Upon a grasshopper they got, + And what with amble and with trot, + For hedge nor ditch they sparèd not, + But after her they hie them. + A cobweb over them they throw, + To shield the wind if it should blow; + Themselves they wisely could bestow, + Lest any should espy them. + + + + +GUSTAVE DROZ + +(1832-1895) + +[Illustration: GUSTAVE DROZ] + + +Gustave Droz enjoyed for a time the distinction of being the most +popular writer of light literature in France, and his fame extended +throughout Europe and to America, several of his books having been +translated into English. Essentially a Parisian of the day,--gay, +droll, adroit,--he not only caught and reflected the humor of his +countrymen, but with a new, fresh touch, reached below the surface of +their volatile emotions. Occasionally striking the note of deeper +feeling, he avoided as a rule the more serious sides of life, as well +as the sensational tendencies of most of his contemporaries. His +friends claimed for him a distinctive _genre_, and on that account +presented him as a candidate for the Academy; but he failed of +election. + +The son of a well-known sculptor, he was born in Paris, and followed +the traditions of his family in entering the École des Beaux-Arts, +where he developed some aptitude with his brush; but a preference for +writing beguiled him from the studio, and an acquaintance with +Marcellin the illustrator, founder of La Vie Parisienne, led him to +follow literature. At first he was timid, dreading the test of +publication, but presently he gave himself up unreservedly to his pen. +Within a year he was established as a favorite of the people, and his +friend's journal was on the highway to success. For this he wrote a +series of sketches of every-day life that were subsequently collected +and published in book form, under the titles 'Monsieur, Madame, et +Bébé,' 'Entre Nous,' and 'La Cahier Bleu de Mlle. Cibot.' Within two +years these books had reached their twentieth edition, and of the +first, nearly one hundred and fifty editions have been demanded since +it was issued. He has written several novels, the best known of which +are 'Babolein,' 'Les Étangs' (The Ponds), and 'Autour d'une Source' +(Around a Spring), but they did not fully sustain the reputation +gained by his short sketches; a fact which induced him in 1884 to +return to his earlier form in 'Tristesses et Sourires' (Sorrows and +Smiles), a volume of light dissertations on things grave and gay that +at once revived his popularity. + +The peculiarity of the work of Gustave Droz is its delicacy both in +humor and pathos. He surprised the French by making them all laugh +without making any of them wince; the sharp wits of his day were +forgotten in the unalloyed enjoyment of his simple quaintness, in +which there was neither affectation nor sarcasm. Yet as has been said, +he was a Parisian of the Parisians, quick to perceive the ludicrous, +ready to weep with the afflicted, and to laugh again with the happy. +His studies of children are among his best, on account of their +extreme naturalness, and are never uninteresting, despite the +simplicity of the incidents and observations on which they are +founded. In 'Le Cahier Bleu de Mlle. Cibot' he has used striking +colors to paint the petty afflictions that beset most lives; but lest +these pictures should leave an unpleasant impression, they are set off +by others of a happier sort, making a collection that constitutes a +most effective lesson in practical philosophy. + + + +HOW THE BABY WAS SAVED + +From 'The Seamstress's Story' + + +"Yes, Ma'm'selle Adèle," said the seamstress, "the real happiness of +this world is not so unevenly distributed after all." Louise, as she +said this, took from the reserve in the bosom of her dress a lot of +pins, and applied them deftly to the trimming of a skirt which I was +holding for her. + +"A sufficiently comfortable doctrine," I answered; "but it does seem +to me as if some people were born to live and to die unhappy." + +"It is only folks who never find anybody to love enough; and I think +it's nobody's fault but their own." + +"But my good Louise, wouldn't you have suffered much less last year, +when you came so near losing your boy, if you hadn't cared so much for +him?" + +I was only drawing her on, you see; Louise's chat was the greatest +resource to me at that time. + +"Why, Ma'm'selle Adèle, you are surely joking. You'd as well tell me +to cut off my feet to save my shoes. You'll know one of these +days--and not so far off neither, maybe--how mighty easy and sensible +it would be not to love your children. They _are_ a worry, too; but oh +the delight of 'em! I'd like to have had anybody tell me not to love +my darling because it might grieve me, when he lay there in his +mother's lap, with blue lips, gasping for his breath, and well-nigh +dead, his face blackish, and his hands like this piece of wax. You +could see that everything was going against him; and with his great +big eyes he was staring in my face, until I felt as if the child was +tugging at my very heart-strings. I kept smiling at him, though, +through the tears that blinded me, hard as I tried to hide them. Oh! +such tears are bitter salt indeed, Ma'm'selle! And there was my poor +husband on his knees, making paper figures to amuse him, and singing a +funny song he used to laugh at. Now and then the corners of his mouth +would pucker, and his cheeks would wrinkle a little bit under the +eyes. You could tell he was still amused, but in such a dreamy way. +Oh! our child seemed no longer with us, but behind a veil, like. Wait +a minute. You must excuse me, for I can't help crying when I think of +it." + +And the poor creature drew out her handkerchief and fairly sobbed +aloud. In the midst of it however she smiled and said: "Well, that's +over now; 'twas nothing, and I'm too silly. And Ma'm'selle, here I've +gone and cried upon your mother's dress, and that's a pretty +business." + +I took her hand in mine and pressed it. + +"Aren't you afraid you'll stick yourself, Ma'm'selle? I've got my +needle in that hand," she said playfully. "But you did not mean what +you said just now, did you?" + +"What did I say?" + +"That it would be better not to love your children with all your +heart, on account of the great anxiety. Don't you know such thoughts +are wicked? When they come into your head your mind wants purifying. +But I'm sure I beg your pardon for saying so." + +"You are entirely right, Louise," I returned. + +"Ah! so I thought. And now let me see. Let's fix this ruche; pull it +to the left a little, please." + +"But about the sick boy. Tell me about his recovery." + +"That was a miracle--I ought to say two miracles. It was a miracle +that God restored him to us, and a miracle to find anybody with so +much knowledge and feeling,--such talent, such a tender heart, and so +much, so much--! I'm speaking of the doctor. A famous one he was, too, +you must know; for it was no less than Doctor Faron. Heaven knows how +he is run after, and how rich and celebrated he is! Aren't you +surprised to hear that it was he who attended _our_ little boy? +Indeed, the wonders begin with that. You may imagine my husband was at +his wits' end when he saw how it was with the child; and all of a +sudden I saw him jump up, get out his best coat and hat, and put them +on. + +"'Where are you going' I asked. + +"'To bring Doctor Faron.' + +"Why, if he had said, 'To bring the Prime Minister,' it would have +seemed as likely. + +"'Don't you believe Doctor Faron is going to trouble himself about +such as we. They will turn you out of doors.' + +"But 'twas no use talking, my dear. He was already on the stairs, and +I heard him running away as if the house was on fire. Fire, indeed; +worse, far worse than any fire! + +"And there I was, left alone with the child upon my knees. He wouldn't +stay in bed, and was quieter so, wrapped up in his little blanket. +'Here will he die,' I thought. 'Soon will his eyes close, and then it +will be all over;' and I held my own breath to listen to his feeble +and oppressed pantings. + +"About an hour had passed, when I heard a rapid step upon the stairs +(we are poor, and live in attic rooms). The door opened, and my +husband came in, wet with perspiration and out of breath. If I live a +century, I'll not forget his look when he said:-- + +"'Well?' + +"I answered, 'No worse. But the doctor?' + +"'He's coming.' + +"Oh, those blessed words! It actually seemed as if my child were saved +already. If you but knew how folks love their little ones! I kissed +the darling, I kissed his father, I laughed, I cried, and I no longer +felt the faintest doubt. It is by God's mercy that such gleams of hope +are sent to strengthen us in our trials. It was very foolish, too; for +something might easily have prevented the doctor's coming, after all. + +"'You found him at home, then?' I asked my husband. + +"Then he told me in an undertone what he had done, stopping every now +and then to wipe his face and gather breath. + + * * * * * + +"My husband had scarcely uttered these words," continued Louise, "when +I heard a step on the stairs. It was he! it was that blessed angel of +a doctor, come to help us in our sore distress. + +"And what do you think he said in his deep voice when he got into the +room? + +"God bless you, my friends, but I nearly broke my neck on those +stairs. Where's that child?" + +"'Here he is, my dear, darling doctor.' I knew no better way to speak +to him, with his dress cravat showing over his greatcoat, and his +decorations dangling like a little bunch of keys at his buttonhole. + +"He took off his wrappings, stooped over the child, turned him over, +more gently even than his mother could have done, and laid his own +head first against his back, then against his breast. How I tried to +read his eyes! but they know how to hide their thoughts. + +"'We must perform an operation here,' says he; 'and it is high time.' + +"Just at this moment the hospital doctor came in, and whispered to +him, 'I'm afraid you didn't want to be disturbed, sir.' + +"'Oh, never mind. I am sorry it wasn't sooner, though. Get everything +ready now.' + +"But Ma'm'selle Adèle, why should I tell you all this? I'd better mind +my work." + +"Oh, go on, Louise, go on!" + +"Well then, Ma'm'selle, if you believe me, those two doctors--neither +of 'em kin, or even friends till then--went to work and made all the +preparations, while my husband went off to borrow lights. The biggest +one tied a mattress on the table, and the assistant spread out the +bright little knives. + +"You who have not been through it all, Ma'm'selle, can't know what it +is to have your own little one in your lap, to know that those things +are to be used upon him to pierce his tender flesh, and if the hand +that guides them be not sure, that they may kill him. + +"When all was ready, Doctor Faron took off his cravat, then lifted my +child from my arms and laid him on the mattress, in the midst of the +lamps, and said to my poor man:-- + +"'You will hold his head, and your wife his feet. Joseph will pass me +the instruments. You've brought a breathing-tube with you, my son?' + +"'Yes, sir.' + +"My husband was as white as a sheet by this; and when I saw him about +to take his place with his hands shaking so much, it scared me, so I +said:-- + +"'Doctor, please let me hold his head!" + +"'But my poor woman, if you should tremble?' + +"'Please let me do it, doctor!' + +"'Be it so, then;' and then added with a bright look at me, and a +cheering smile, 'we shall save him for you, my dear; you are a brave +little woman and you deserve it.' + +"Yes, and save him he did! God bless him! saved him as truly as if he +had snatched him from the depths of the river." + +"And you didn't tremble, Louise?" + +"You may depend on that. If I had, it would have been the last of my +child." + +"How in the world did you keep yourself steady?" + +"The Lord knows; but I was like a rock. When you must, you must, I +suppose." + +"And you had to behold every detail of that operation?" + +"Yes, indeed; and often have I dreamed it over since. His poor little +neck laid open, and the veins, which the doctor pushed aside with his +fingers, and the little silver tube which he inserted, and all that; +and then the face of the child, changing as the air passed into his +lungs. You've seen a lamp almost out, when you pour in oil? It was +like that. They had laid him there but half alive, with his eyes all +but set; and they gave him back to me, pale and with bloodless lips, +it is true, but with life in his looks, and breathing--breathing the +free, fresh air. + +"'Kiss him, mother,' says the doctor, 'and put him to bed. Cover the +place with some light thing or other, and Joseph must stay with you +to-night; won't you, Joseph? Ah, well, that's all arranged.' + +"He put on his things and wrapped himself up to go. He was shaking +hands with my husband, when I seized one hand, and kissed it--like a +fool, as I was; but I didn't stop to think. He laughed heartily, and +said to my husband, 'Are you not jealous, friend? Your wife is making +great advances to me. But I must be off now. Good night, good people.' + +"And from that night he always talks so friendly and familiarly to us, +not a bit contemptuously either, but as if he liked us, and was glad +to be of service to us." + + + +A FAMILY NEW-YEAR'S + +From 'Monsieur, Madame, and Baby' + + +It is barely seven o'clock. A pale ray of wan light filters through +the double curtains, and some one is already at the door. In the next +room I hear the stifled laughs and silvery voice of my little child, +who trembles with impatience and begs to come. + +"But father dear," he cries, "it's Baby. It's your own little boy--to +wish you 'Happy New Year.'" + +"Come in, darling; come quick and give me a kiss," I cry. + +The door opens, and my boy, with shining eyes and his arms in the air, +rushes toward the bed. Long curls, escaping from the nightcap which +imprisons his blond head, fall over his forehead. His loose +night-shirt, embarrassing his little feet, adds to his impatience and +makes him trip at every step. He has crossed the room at last, and +stretching his hands toward mine, "Baby wishes you a happy New Year," +he says earnestly. + +"Poor darling, with his bare feet! Come, dear! Come and get warm under +the covers; come and hide in the quilt." + +I draw him to me; but at this movement my wife wakes up suddenly.... +"How you frightened me! I was dreaming that there was a fire, and +these voices in the midst of it! You are indiscreet with your cries!" + +"_Our_ cries! So you forget, dear mamma, that this is New-Year's day. +Baby is waiting for you to wake up, and so am I." + +I wrap up my little man in the soft quilt, I bury him in the +eiderdown, and warm his frozen feet with my hands. + +"Mother dear, this is New Year," he cries. He draws our two heads +together with his arms, and kisses us anywhere at random, with his +fresh lips. I feel his dimpled hand wandering about my neck; his +little fingers are entangled in my beard. My mustache pricks the end +of his nose. He bursts out laughing, and throws his head back. + +His mother, who has recovered from her fright, draws him into her +arms. She pulls the bell. + +"The year begins well, my dears," she says, "but we need a little +light." + +"Tell me, mamma, do naughty children have presents at New-Year's?" +says the young dissembler, with an eye on the mountain of boxes and +packages visible in the corner, in spite of the gloom. + +The curtains are drawn apart, the blinds are opened, there is a flood +of daylight, the fire crackles gayly on the hearth, and two large +packages, carefully wrapped up, are placed on the bed. One is for my +wife; the other for the boy. + +What is it? What will it be? I have heaped up knots, and tripled the +wrappings; and I watch with delight their nervous fingers, lost in the +strings. + +My wife gets impatient, smiles, is vexed, kisses me, and asks for +scissors. Baby on his side bites his lips, pulls with all his might, +and at last asks me to help him. He longs to see through the paper. +Desire and expectation are painted on his face. The convulsive +movement of his hand in the folds of the quilt rustles the silk, and +he makes a sound with his lips as though a savory fruit were +approaching them. + +The last paper is off, finally the cover is lifted, there is an outcry +of joy. + +"My tippet!" + +"My menagerie!" + +"Like my muff,--my dear husband!" + +"With a real shepherd, on wheels, dear papa, _how_ I love you!" + +They hug me, four arms at once wind round and press me close. I am +stirred--a tear comes to my eyes; two come to those of my wife; and +Baby, who loses his head, utters a sob as he kisses my hand. + +How absurd! you will say. I don't know whether it is absurd or not, +but it is charming, I promise you. After all, does not sorrow wring +tears enough from us to make up for the solitary one which joy may +call forth? Life is less happy when one chances it alone; and when the +heart is empty, the way seems long. It is so good to feel one's self +loved; to hear the regular steps of one's fellow travelers beside one; +and to think, "They are there, our three hearts beat together;" and +once a year, when the great clock strikes the first of January, to sit +down beside the way with hands clasped together and eyes fixed upon +the dusty unknown road stretching on to the horizon, and to embrace +and say:--"We will always love each other, my dear ones; you depend +upon me and I on you. Let us trust and keep straight on." + +And that is how I explain that we weep a little in looking at a tippet +and opening a menagerie. + + Translated by Jane G. Cooke, for 'A Library of The World's + Best Literature.' + + + +THEIR LAST EXCURSION + +From 'Making an Omelette': from Lippincott's Magazine, 1871, +copyrighted + + +In this strange, rude interior, how refined and delicate Louise +looked, with all her dainty appointments of long undressed kid gloves, +jaunty boots, and looped-up petticoat! While I talked to the +wood-cutters she shielded her face from the fire with her hands, and +kept her eye on the butter beginning to sing in the pan. + +Suddenly she rose, and taking the pan-handle from the old woman, said, +"Let me help you make the omelette, will you?" The good woman let go +with a smile, and Louise found herself alone, in the attitude of a +fisherman who has just had a nibble. She stood in the full light of +the fire, her eyes fixed on the melted butter, her arms tense with +effort; she was biting her lips, probably in order to increase her +strength. + +"It's rather hard on madame's little hands," said the old man. "I bet +it's the first time you ever made an omelette in a wood-cutter's +hut--isn't it, my young lady?" + +Louise nodded yes, without turning her eyes from the omelette. + +"The eggs! the eggs!" she suddenly exclaimed, with such a look of +uneasiness that we all burst out laughing--"hurry with the eggs! The +butter is all puffing up! Be quick--or I can't answer for the +consequences." + +The old woman beat the eggs energetically. + +"The herbs!" cried the old man. "The lard and salt!" cried the young +ones. And they all set to work chopping, cutting, piling up, while +Louise, stamping with excitement, called out, "Make haste! make +haste!" Then there was a tremendous bubbling in the pan, and the great +work began. We were all round the fire, gazing with an anxious +interest inspired by our all having had a finger in the pie. + +The old woman, on her knees beside a large dish, slipped a knife under +the edge of the omelette, which was turning a fine brown. "Now, +madame, you've only got to turn it over," she said. + +"Just one little quick blow," suggested the old man. + +"Mustn't be violent," counseled the young one. + +"All at once; tip with it, dear!" I said. + +"If you all talk at once--" + +"Make haste, madame!" + +"If you all talk at once I never shall manage it. It is too awfully +heavy." + +"One quick little blow." + +"But I can't; it's going over. Oh gracious!" + +In the heat of action, her hood had fallen off. Her cheeks were like a +peach, her eyes shone, and though she lamented her fate, she burst +into peals of laughter. At last by a supreme effort the pan moved, and +the omelette rolled over, somewhat heavily, I confess, into the large +dish which the old woman was holding. Never did an omelette look +better! + +"I am sure the young lady's arms must be tired," said the old man, as +he began cutting a round loaf into enormous slices. + +"Oh no, not so very," my wife answered with a merry laugh; "only I am +crazy to taste my--our omelette." + +We had seated ourselves round the table. When we had eaten and drunk +with the good souls, we rose and made ready to go home. The sun had +set, and the whole family came out of the cabin to see us off and say +good-night. + +"Don't you want my son to go with you?" the old woman called after us. + +It was growing dark and chilly under the trees, and we gradually +quickened our pace. "Those are happy people," said Louise. "We will +come some morning and breakfast with them,--shan't we? We can put the +baby in one of the donkey panniers, and in the other a large pasty and +a bottle of wine.--You are not afraid of losing your way, George?" + +"No, dear; no fear of that." + +"A pasty and a bottle of wine--What is that?" + +"Nothing; the stump of a tree." + +"The stump of a tree--the stump of a tree," she muttered. "Don't you +hear something behind us?" + +"It is only the wind in the leaves, or the breaking of a dead branch." + +He is fortunate who at night, in the heart of a forest, feels as calm +as at his own fireside. You do not tremble, but you feel the silence. +Involuntarily you look for eyes peering out of the darkness, and you +try to define the confused forms appearing and changing every minute. +Something breaks and sounds beneath your tread, and if you stop you +hear the distant melancholy howl of your watch-dog, the scream of an +owl, and other noises, far and near, not so easily explained. A sense +of strangeness surrounds you and weighs you down. If you are alone, +you walk faster; if there are two of you, you draw close to your +companion. My wife clung to my arm. + +"Let us turn wood-cutters. We could build a pretty little hut, simple, +but nice enough. I would have curtains to the windows, and a carpet, +and put my piano in one corner." She spoke very low, and occasionally +I felt my hand tremble on her arm. + +"You would soon get enough of that, dearest." + +"It isn't fair to say so." And in another minute she went on:--"You +think I don't love you, you and our boy? Oh yes, dear, I love you. +Yes, yes, yes! The happiness that comes every day can't be expressed: +we live on it, so we don't think of it. Like our daily bread--who +thinks of that? But when you are thinking of yourself, when you put +your head down, and really think, then you say, 'I am ungrateful, for +I am happy, and I give no thanks for it.' Or when we are alone +together, and walking arm-in-arm, now, at this very moment,--not that +I mean only this moment,--I love you, I love you." She put her head +down on my arm and pressed it earnestly. "Oh," she said, "if I were to +lose you!" She spoke very low, as if afraid. What had frightened her? +The darkness and the forest, or her own words? + +She went on:--"I have often and often dreamed that I was saying +good-by to you. You both cried, and I pressed you so close to my heart +that there was only one of us. It was a nightmare, you know, but I +don't mind it, for it showed me that my life was in your lives, dear. +What is that cracking noise? Didn't you see something just in front of +us?" + +I answered her by taking her in my arms and folding her to my heart. +We walked on, but it was impossible to go on talking. Every now and +then she would stop and say, "Hush! hark! No, it is nothing." + +At last we saw ahead of us a little light, now visible, now hidden by +a tree. It was the lamp set for us in our parlor window. We crossed +the stile and were at home. It was high time, for we were wet through. + +I brought a huge log, and when the fire had blazed up we sat down in +the great chimney-place. The poor girl was shivering. I took off her +boots and held her feet to the fire, screening them with my hands. + +"Thanks, dear George, thanks!" she said, leaning on my shoulder and +looking at me so tenderly that I felt almost ready to cry. + +"What were you saying to me in that horrid wood, my darling?" I asked +her, when she was better. + +"You are thinking about that? I was frightened, that is all, and when +you are frightened you see ghosts." + +"We shall be wood-cutters, shan't we?" + +And kissing me, with a laugh, she replied: "It is bedtime, Jean of the +Woods." + +I well remember that walk, for it was our last. Often and often since, +at sunset on a dark day, I have been over the same ground; often and +often I have stopped where she stood, and stooped and pulled aside the +fern, seeking to find, poor fool that I am! the traces of her vanished +footsteps. And I have often halted in the clearing under the birches +which rained down on us, and there in the shadow I have fancied I +caught the flutter of her dress; I have thought I heard her startled +note of fright. And on my way home at night, at every step I have +found a recollection of her in the distant barking and the breaking +branches, as in the trembling of her hand on my arm and the kiss which +I gave her. + +Once I went into the wood-hut. I saw it all as before,--the family, +the smoky interior, the little bench on which we sat,--and I asked for +something to drink, that I might see the glass her lips had touched. + +"The little lady who makes such good omelettes, she isn't sick, for +sure?" asked the old woman. + +Probably she saw the tears in my eyes, for she said no more, and I +came away. + +And so it is that except in my heart, where she lives and is, all that +was my darling grows faint and dark and dim. + +It is the law of life, but it is a cruel law. Even my poor child is +learning to forget, and when I say to him most unwillingly, "Baby +dear, do you remember how your mother did this or that?" he answers +"Yes"; but I see, alas! that he too is ceasing to remember. + + Translation of Agnes Irwin. + + + + +HENRY DRUMMOND + +(1851-) + +[Illustration: HENRY DRUMMOND] + + +One of the most widely read of modern essayists, Henry Drummond, was +born at Stirling, Scotland, in 1851. Educated for the ministry, he +passed through the Universities of Edinburgh and Tübingen, and the +Free Church Divinity Hall, and after ordination was appointed to a +mission chapel at Malta. The beauty and the historic interest of the +famous island roused in him a desire for travel, and in the intervals +of his professional work he has made semi-scientific pilgrimages to +the Rocky Mountains and to South Africa, as well as lecturing tours to +Canada, Australia, and the United States, where his addresses on +scientific, religious, and sociological subjects have attracted large +audiences. + +A man of indefatigable industry, he has published many books, the most +widely read of these being 'Natural Law in the Spiritual World' a +study of psychological conditions from the point of view of the +Evolutionist. This work has passed through a large number of editions, +and been translated into French, German, Dutch, and Norwegian. +Scarcely less popular were 'The Greatest Thing in the World' (love), +and 'Pax Vobiscum.' In 1894 he published a volume called 'The Ascent +of Man,' in which he insists that certain altruistic factors modify +the process of Natural Selection. This doctrine elicited much critical +commentary from the stricter sects of the scientists, but the new view +commended itself at once to the general reader. + +The citations here given are selected from Mr. Drummond's book of +travels, 'Tropical Africa,' a book whose simplicity and vividness +enable the reader to see the Dark Continent exactly as it is. + + + +THE COUNTRY AND ITS PEOPLE + +From 'Tropical Africa' + + +Nothing could more wildly misrepresent the reality than the idea of +one's school days that the heart of Africa is a desert. Africa rises +from its three environing oceans in three great tiers, and the general +physical geography of these has been already sketched:--first, a coast +line, low and deadly; farther in, a plateau the height of the Scottish +Grampians; farther in still, a higher plateau, covering the country +for thousands of miles with mountain and valley. Now fill in this +sketch, and you have Africa before you. Cover the coast belt with rank +yellow grass; dot here and there a palm; scatter through it a few +demoralized villages; and stock it with the leopard, the hyena, the +crocodile, and the hippopotamus. Clothe the mountainous plateaux next, +both of them, with endless forests; not grand umbrageous forest like +the forests of South America, nor matted jungle like the forests of +India, but with thin, rather weak forest,--with forest of low trees, +whose half-grown trunks and scanty leaves offer no shade from the +tropical sun. Nor is there anything in these trees to the casual eye +to remind you that you are in the tropics. Here and there one comes +upon a borassus or fan-palm, a candelabra-like euphorbia, a mimosa +aflame with color, or a sepulchral baobab. A close inspection also +will discover curious creepers and climbers; and among the branches +strange orchids hide their eccentric flowers. But the outward type of +tree is the same as we have at home--trees resembling the ash, the +beech, and the elm, only seldom so large except by the streams, and +never so beautiful. Day after day you may wander through these +forests, with nothing except the climate to remind you where you are. +The beasts to be sure are different, but unless you watch for them you +will seldom see any; the birds are different, but you rarely hear +them; and as for the rocks, they are our own familiar gneisses and +granites, with honest basalt dikes boring through them, and +leopard-skin lichens staining their weathered sides. Thousands and +thousands of miles, then, of vast thin forest, shadeless, trackless, +voiceless,--forest in mountain and forest in plain,--this is East +Central Africa. + +The indiscriminate praise, formerly lavished on tropical vegetation, +has received many shocks from recent travelers. In Kaffir-land, South +Africa, I have seen one or two forests fine enough to justify the +enthusiasm of arm-chair word-painters of the tropics; but so far as +the central plateau is concerned, the careful judgment of Mr. Alfred +Russell Wallace respecting the equatorial belt in general (a judgment +which has at once sobered all modern descriptions of tropical lands +and made imaginative people more content to stay at home) applies +almost to this whole area. The fairy labyrinth of ferns and palms, +the festoons of climbing plants blocking the paths and scenting the +forests with their resplendent flowers, the gorgeous clouds of +insects, the gayly plumaged birds, the paroquets, the monkey swinging +from his trapeze in the shaded bowers--these are unknown to Africa. +Once a week you will see a palm; once in three months the monkey will +cross your path; the flowers on the whole are few; the trees are poor; +and to be honest, though the endless forest-clad mountains have a +sublimity of their own, and though there are tropical bits along some +of the mountain streams of exquisite beauty, nowhere is there anything +in grace and sweetness and strength to compare with a Highland glen. +For the most part of the year these forests are jaded and +sun-stricken, carpeted with no moss or alchemylla or scented woodruff, +the bare trunks frescoed with few lichens, their motionless and +unrefreshed leaves drooping sullenly from their sapless boughs. +Flowers there are, small and great, in endless variety; but there is +no display of flowers, no gorgeous show of blossom in the mass, as +when the blazing gorse and heather bloom at home. The dazzling glare +of the sun in the torrid zone has perhaps something to do with this +want of color effect in tropical nature; for there is always about ten +minutes just after sunset when the whole tone of the landscape changes +like magic, and a singular beauty steals over the scene. This is the +sweetest moment of the African day, and night hides only too swiftly +the homelike softness and repose so strangely grateful to the +over-stimulated eye. + +Hidden away in these endless forests, like birds' nests in a wood, in +terror of one another and of their common foe the slaver, are small +native villages; and here in his virgin simplicity dwells primeval +man, without clothes, without civilization, without learning, without +religion--the genuine child of nature, thoughtless, careless, and +contented. This man is apparently quite happy; he has practically no +wants. One stick, pointed, makes him a spear; two sticks rubbed +together make him a fire; fifty sticks tied together make him a +house. The bark he peels from them makes his clothes; the fruits which +hang on them form his food. It is perfectly astonishing, when one +thinks of it, what nature can do for the animal man, to see with what +small capital after all a human being can get through the world. I +once saw an African buried. According to the custom of his tribe, his +entire earthly possessions--and he was an average commoner--were +buried with him. Into the grave, after the body, was lowered the dead +man's pipe, then a rough knife, then a mud bowl, and last his bow and +arrows--the bowstring cut through the middle, a touching symbol that +its work was done. This was all. Four items, as an auctioneer would +say, were the whole belongings for half a century of this human being. +No man knows what a man is till he has seen what a man can be without, +and be withal a man. That is to say, no man knows how great man is +till he has seen how small he has been once. + +The African is often blamed for being lazy, but it is a misuse of +words. He does not need to work; with so bountiful a Nature round him +it would be gratuitous to work. And his indolence, therefore, as it +is called, is just as much a part of himself as his flat nose, and as +little blameworthy as slowness in a tortoise. The fact is, Africa is +a nation of the unemployed. + + + +THE EAST-AFRICAN LAKE COUNTRY + +From 'Tropical Africa' + + +Somewhere in the Shiré Highlands, in 1859, Livingstone saw a large +lake--Lake Shirwa--which is still almost unknown. It lies away to the +east, and is bounded by a range of mountains whose lofty summits are +visible from the hills round Blantyre. Thinking it might be a useful +initiation to African travel if I devoted a short time to its +exploration, I set off one morning, accompanied by two members of the +Blantyre staff and a small retinue of natives. Steering across country +in the direction in which it lay, we found, two days before seeing the +actual water, that we were already on the ancient bed of the lake. +Though now clothed with forest, the whole district has obviously been +under water at a comparatively recent period, and the shores of Lake +Shirwa probably reached at one time to within a few miles of Blantyre +itself. On reaching the lake a very aged female chief came to see us, +and told us how, long, long ago, a white man came to her village and +gave her a present of cloth. Of the white man, who must have been +Livingstone, she spoke very kindly; and indeed, wherever David +Livingstone's footsteps are crossed in Africa, the fragrance of his +memory seems to remain. + +The waters of Shirwa are brackish to the taste, and undrinkable; but +the saltness must have a peculiar charm for game, for nowhere else in +Africa did I see such splendid herds of the larger animals as here. +The zebra was especially abundant; and so unaccustomed to be disturbed +are these creatures, that with a little care one could watch their +movements safely within a very few yards. It may seem unorthodox to +say so, but I do not know if among the larger animals there is +anything handsomer in creation than the zebra. At close quarters his +striped coat is all but as fine as the tiger's, while the form and +movement of his body are in every way nobler. The gait, certainly, is +not to be compared for gracefulness with that of the many species of +antelope and deer who nibble the grass beside him, and one can never +quite forget that scientifically he is an ass; but taking him all in +all, this fleet and beautiful animal ought to have a higher place in +the regard of man than he has yet received. + +We were much surprised, considering that this region is almost +uninhabited, to discover near the lake shore a native path so beaten, +and so recently beaten, by multitudes of human feet, that it could +only represent some trunk route through the continent. Following it +for a few miles, we soon discovered its function. It was one of the +great slave routes through Africa. Signs of the horrid traffic became +visible on every side; and from symmetrical arrangements of small +piles of stones and freshly cut twigs, planted semaphore-wise upon the +path, our native guides made out that a slave caravan was actually +passing at the time. We were in fact between two portions of it, the +stones and twigs being telegraphic signals between front and rear. Our +natives seemed much alarmed at this discovery, and refused to proceed +unless we promised not to interfere--a proceeding which, had we +attempted it, would simply have meant murder for ourselves and slavery +for them. Next day from a hill-top we saw the slave encampment far +below, and the ghastly procession marshaling for its march to the +distant coast, which many of the hundreds who composed it would never +reach alive. + +Talking of native foot-paths leads me to turn aside for a moment, to +explain to the uninitiated the true mode of African travel. In spite +of all the books that have been lavished upon us by our great +explorers, few people seem to have any accurate understanding of this +most simple process. Some have the impression that everything is done +in bullock wagons; an idea borrowed from the Cape, but hopelessly +inapplicable to Central Africa, where a wheel at present would be as +great a novelty as a polar bear. Others, at the opposite extreme, +suppose that the explorer works along solely by compass, making a +bee-line for his destination, and steering his caravan through the +trackless wilderness like a ship at sea. Now, it may be a surprise to +the unenlightened to learn that probably no explorer in forcing his +passage through Africa has ever, for more than a few days at a time, +been off some beaten track. Probably no country in the world, +civilized or uncivilized, is better supplied with paths than this +unmapped continent. Every village is connected with some other +village, every tribe with the next tribe, every State with its +neighbor, and therefore with all the rest. The explorer's business is +simply to select from this network of tracks, keep a general +direction, and hold on his way. Let him begin at Zanzibar, plant his +foot on a native foot-path, and set his face towards Tanganyika. In +eight months he will be there. He has simply to persevere. From +village to village he will be handed on, zig-zagging it may be, +sometimes, to avoid the impassable barriers of nature or the rarer +perils of hostile tribes; but never taking to the woods, never guided +solely by the stars, never in fact leaving a beaten track, till +hundreds and hundreds of miles are between him and the sea, and his +interminable foot-path ends with a canoe on the shores of Tanganyika. +Crossing the lake, landing near some native village, he picks up the +thread once more. Again he plods on and on, now on foot, now by canoe, +but always keeping his line of villages, until one day suddenly he +sniffs the sea-breeze again, and his faithful foot-wide guide lands +him on the Atlantic seaboard. + +Nor is there any art in finding out these successive villages with +their intercommunicating links. He _must_ find them out. A whole army +of guides, servants, carriers, soldiers, and camp-followers accompany +him in his march, and this nondescript regiment must be fed. Indian +corn, cassava, mawere, beans, and bananas--these do not grow wild even +in Africa. Every meal has to be bought and paid for in cloth and +beads; and scarcely three days can pass without a call having to be +made at some village where the necessary supplies can be obtained. A +caravan, as a rule, must live from hand to mouth, and its march +becomes simply a regulated procession through a chain of markets. Not +however that there are any real markets--there are neither bazaars nor +stores in native Africa. Thousands of the villages through which the +traveler eats his way may never have victualed a caravan before. But +with the chief's consent, which is usually easily purchased for a +showy present, the villagers unlock their larders, the women flock to +the grinding-stones, and basketfuls of food are swiftly exchanged for +unknown equivalents in beads and calico. + +The native tracks which I have just described are the same in +character all over Africa. They are veritable foot-paths, never over a +foot in breadth, beaten as hard as adamant, and rutted beneath the +level of the forest bed by centuries of native traffic. As a rule +these foot-paths are marvelously direct. Like the roads of the old +Romans, they run straight on through everything, ridge and mountain +and valley, never shying at obstacles, nor anywhere turning aside to +breathe. Yet within this general straightforwardness there is a +singular eccentricity and indirectness in detail. Although the African +foot-path is on the whole a bee-line, no fifty yards of it are ever +straight. And the reason is not far to seek. If a stone is +encountered, no native will ever think of removing it. Why should he? +It is easier to walk round it. The next man who comes that way will do +the same. He knows that a hundred men are following him; he looks at +the stone; a moment, and it might be unearthed and tossed aside, but +no--he also holds on his way. It is not that he resents the trouble, +it is the idea that is wanting. It would no more occur to him that +that stone was a displaceable object, and that for the general weal he +might displace it, than that its feldspar was of the orthoclase +variety. Generations and generations of men have passed that stone, +and it still waits for a man with an altruistic idea. But it would be +a very stony country indeed--and Africa is far from stony--that would +wholly account for the aggravating obliqueness and indecision of the +African foot-path. Probably each four miles, on an average path, is +spun out, by an infinite series of minor sinuosities, to five or six. +Now, these deflections are not meaningless. Each has some history--a +history dating back perhaps a thousand years, but to which all clue +has centuries ago been lost. The leading cause probably is fallen +trees. When a tree falls across a path no man ever removes it. As in +the case of the stone, the native goes round it. It is too green to +burn in his hut; before it is dry and the white ants have eaten it, +the new detour has become part and parcel of the path. The smaller +irregularities, on the other hand, represent the trees and stumps of +the primeval forest where the track was made at first. But whatever +the cause, it is certain that for persistent straightforwardness in +the general, and utter vacillation and irresolution in the particular, +the African roads are unique in engineering. + +Though one of the smaller African lakes, Shirwa is probably larger +than all the lakes of Great Britain put together. With the splendid +environment of mountains on three of its sides, softened and distanced +by perpetual summer haze, it reminds one somewhat of the Great Salt +Lake simmering in the July sun. We pitched our tent for a day or two +on its western shore, among a harmless and surprised people who had +never gazed on the pallid countenances of Englishmen before. Owing to +the ravages of the slaver, the people of Shirwa are few, scattered, +and poor, and live in abiding terror. The densest population is to be +found on the small island, heavily timbered with baobabs, which forms +a picturesque feature of the northern end. These Wa-Nyassa, or people +of the lake, as they call themselves, have been driven away by fear, +and they rarely leave their lake dwelling unless under cover of night. +Even then they are liable to capture by any man of a stronger tribe +who happens to meet them, and numbers who have been kidnapped in this +way are to be found in the villages of neighboring chiefs. This is an +amenity of existence in Africa that strikes one as very terrible. It +is impossible for those at home to understand how literally savage man +is a chattel, and how much his life is spent in the mere safeguarding +of his main asset, _i. e._, himself. There are actually districts in +Africa where _three_ natives cannot be sent on a message, in case two +should combine and sell the third before they return. + + + +WHITE ANTS + +From 'Tropical Africa' + + +The termite or white ant is a small insect, with a bloated, +yellowish-white body, and a somewhat large thorax, oblong-shaped, and +colored a disagreeable oily brown. The flabby, tallow-like body makes +this insect sufficiently repulsive, but it is for quite another reason +that the white ant is the worst abused of all living vermin in warm +countries. The termite lives almost exclusively upon wood; and the +moment a tree is cut or a log sawn for any economical purpose, this +insect is upon its track. One may never see the insect, possibly, in +the flesh, for it lives underground; but its ravages confront one at +every turn. You build your house perhaps, and for a few months fancy +you have pitched upon the one solitary site in the country where there +are no white ants. But one day suddenly the door-post totters, and +lintel and rafters come down together with a crash. You look at a +section of the wrecked timbers, and discover that the whole inside is +eaten clean away. The apparently solid logs of which the rest of the +house is built are now mere cylinders of bark, and through the +thickest of them you could push your little finger. Furniture, tables, +chairs, chests of drawers, everything made of wood, is inevitably +attacked, and in a single night a strong trunk is often riddled +through and through, and turned into matchwood. There is no limit, in +fact, to the depredation by these insects, and they will eat books, or +leather, or cloth, or anything; and in many parts of Africa I believe +if a man lay down to sleep with a wooden leg, it would be a heap of +sawdust in the morning. So much feared is this insect now, that no one +in certain parts of India and Africa ever attempts to travel with such +a thing as a wooden trunk. On the Tanganyika plateau I have camped on +ground which was as hard as adamant, and as innocent of white ants +apparently as the pavement of St. Paul's; and wakened next morning to +find a stout wooden box almost gnawed to pieces. Leather portmanteaus +share the same fate, and the only substances which seem to defy the +marauders are iron and tin. + +But what has this to do with earth or with agriculture? The most +important point in the work of the white ant remains to be noted. I +have already said that the white ant is never seen. Why he should have +such a repugnance to being looked at is at first sight a mystery, +seeing that he himself is stone blind. But his coyness is really due +to the desire for self-protection; for the moment his juicy body shows +itself above ground there are a dozen enemies waiting to devour it. +And yet the white ant can never procure any food until it comes above +ground. Nor will it meet the case for the insect to come to the +surface under the shadow of night. Night in the tropics, so far as +animal life is concerned, is as the day. It is the great feeding-time, +the great fighting-time, the carnival of the carnivores, and of all +beasts, birds, and insects of prey, from the least to the greatest. It +is clear then that darkness is no protection to the white ant; and yet +without coming out of the ground it cannot live. How does it solve the +difficulty? It takes the ground out along with it. I have seen white +ants working on the top of a high tree, and yet they were underground. +They took up some of the ground with them to the tree-top; just as the +Esquimaux heap up snow, building it into the low tunnel-huts in which +they live, so the white ants collect earth, only in this case not from +the surface, but from some depth underneath the ground, and plaster it +into tunneled ways. Occasionally these run along the ground, but more +often mount in endless ramifications to the top of trees, meandering +along every branch and twig, and here and there debouching into large +covered chambers which occupy half the girth of the trunk. Millions of +trees in some districts are thus fantastically plastered over with +tubes, galleries, and chambers of earth, and many pounds' weight of +subsoil must be brought up for the mining of even a single tree. The +building material is conveyed by the insects up a central pipe with +which all the galleries communicate, and which at the downward end +connects with a series of subterranean passages leading deep into the +earth. The method of building the tunnels and covered ways is as +follows: At the foot of a tree the tiniest hole cautiously opens in +the ground close to the bark. A small head appears, with a grain of +earth clasped in its jaws. Against the tree trunk this earth-grain is +deposited, and the head is withdrawn. Presently it reappears with +another grain of earth; this is laid beside the first, rammed tight +against it, and again the builder descends underground for more. The +third grain is not placed against the tree, but against the former +grain; a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth follow, and the plan of the +foundation begins to suggest itself as soon as these are in position. +The stones or grains or pellets of earth are arranged in a +semicircular wall; the termite, now assisted by three or four others, +standing in the middle between the sheltering wall and the tree, and +working briskly with head and mandible to strengthen the position. The +wall in fact forms a small moon-rampart, and as it grows higher and +higher it soon becomes evident that it is going to grow from a low +battlement into a long perpendicular tunnel running up the side of the +tree. The workers, safely ensconced inside, are now carrying up the +structure with great rapidity, disappearing in turn as soon as they +have laid their stone, and rushing off to bring up another. The way in +which the building is done is extremely curious, and one could watch +the movement of these wonderful little masons by the hour. Each stone +as it is brought to the top is first of all covered with mortar. Of +course, without this the whole tunnel would crumble into dust before +reaching the height of half an inch; but the termite pours over the +stone a moist sticky secretion, turning the grain round and round with +its mandibles until the whole is covered with slime. Then it places +the stone with great care upon the top of the wall, works it about +vigorously for a moment or two till it is well jammed into its place, +and then starts off instantly for another load. + +Peering over the growing wall, one soon discovers one, two, or more +termites of a somewhat larger build, considerably longer, and with a +very different arrangement of the parts of the head, and especially of +the mandibles. These important-looking individuals saunter about the +rampart in the most leisurely way, but yet with a certain air of +business, as if perhaps the one was the master of works and the other +the architect. But closer observation suggests that they are in no +wise superintending operations, nor in any immediate way contributing +to the structure, for they take not the slightest notice either of the +workers or the works. They are posted there in fact as sentries; and +there they stand, or promenade about, at the mouth of every tunnel, +like Sister Anne, to see if anybody is coming. Sometimes somebody does +come, in the shape of another ant; the real ant this time, not the +defenseless _Neuropteron_, but some valiant and belted knight from the +warlike _Formicidæ_. Singly or in troops, this rapacious little +insect, fearless in its chitinous coat of mail, charges down the tree +trunk, its antennæ waving defiance to the enemy and its cruel +mandibles thirsting for termite blood. The worker white ant is a poor +defenseless creature, and blind and unarmed, would fall an immediate +prey to these well-drilled banditti, who forage about in every +tropical forest in unnumbered legion. But at the critical moment, like +Goliath from the Philistines, the soldier termite advances to the +fight. With a few sweeps of its scythe-like jaws it clears the ground, +and while the attacking party is carrying off its dead, the builders, +unconscious of the fray, quietly continue their work. To every hundred +workers in a white-ant colony, which numbers many thousands of +individuals, there are perhaps two of these fighting men. The division +of labor here is very wonderful; and the fact that besides these two +specialized forms there are in every nest two other kinds of the same +insect, the kings and queens, shows the remarkable height to which +civilization in these communities has attained. + +But where is this tunnel going to, and what object have the insects in +view in ascending this lofty tree? Thirty feet from the ground, across +innumerable forks, at the end of a long branch, are a few feet of dead +wood. How the ants know it is there, how they know its sap has dried +up, and that it is now fit for the termites' food, is a mystery. +Possibly they do not know, and are only prospecting on the chance. The +fact that they sometimes make straight for the decaying limb argues in +these instances a kind of definite instinct; but on the other hand, +the fact that in most cases the whole tree, in every branch and limb, +is covered with termite tunnels, would show perhaps that they work +most commonly on speculation, while the number of abandoned tunnels, +ending on a sound branch in a _cul de sac_, proves how often they must +suffer the usual disappointments of all such adventurers. The extent +to which these insects carry on their tunneling is quite incredible, +until one has seen it in nature with his own eyes. The tunnels are +perhaps about the thickness of a small-sized gas-pipe, but there are +junctions here and there of large dimensions, and occasionally patches +of earthwork are found, embracing nearly the whole trunk for some +feet. The outside of these tunnels, which are never quite straight, +but wander irregularly along stem and branch, resembles in texture a +coarse sandpaper; and the color, although this naturally varies with +the soil, is usually a reddish brown. The quantity of earth and mud +plastered over a single tree is often enormous; and when one thinks +that it is not only an isolated specimen here and there that is +frescoed in this way, but often all the trees of a forest, some idea +will be formed of the magnitude of the operations of these insects, +and the extent of their influence upon the soil which they are thus +ceaselessly transporting from underneath the ground. + +In traveling through the great forests of the Rocky Mountains or of +the Western States, the broken branches and fallen trunks, strewing +the ground breast-high with all sorts of decaying litter, frequently +make locomotion impossible. To attempt to ride through these Western +forests, with their meshwork of interlocked branches and decaying +trunks, is often out of the question, and one has to dismount and drag +his horse after him as if he were clambering through a wood-yard. But +in an African forest not a fallen branch is seen. One is struck at +first at a certain clean look about the great forests of the interior, +a novel and unaccountable cleanness, as if the forest bed was +carefully swept and dusted daily by unseen elves. And so indeed it is. +Scavengers of a hundred kinds remove decaying animal matter, from the +carcass of a fallen elephant to the broken wing of a gnat; eating it, +or carrying it out of sight and burying it in the deodorizing earth. +And these countless millions of termites perform a similar function +for the vegetable world, making away with all plants and trees, all +stems, twigs, and tissues, the moment the finger of decay strikes the +signal. Constantly in these woods one comes across what appear to be +sticks and branches and bundles of fagots, but when closely examined +they are seen to be mere casts in mud. From these hollow tubes, which +preserve the original form of the branch down to the minutest knot or +fork, the ligneous tissue is often entirely removed, while others are +met with in all stages of demolition. There is the section of an +actual specimen, which is not yet completely destroyed, and from which +the mode of attack may be easily seen. The insects start apparently +from two centres. One company attacks the inner bark, which is the +favorite morsel, leaving the coarse outer bark untouched, or more +usually replacing it with grains of earth, atom by atom, as they eat +it away. The inner bark is gnawed off likewise as they go along, but +the woody tissue beneath is allowed to remain, to form a protective +sheath for the second company, who begin work at the centre. This +second contingent eats its way outward and onward, leaving a thin +tube of the outer wood to the last, as props to the mine, till they +have finished the main excavation. When a fallen trunk lying upon the +ground is the object of attack, the outer cylinder is frequently left +quite intact, and it is only when one tries to drag it off to his +camp-fire that he finds to his disgust that he is dealing with a mere +hollow tube, a few lines in thickness, filled up with mud. + +But the works above ground represent only a part of the labors of +these slow-moving but most industrious of creatures. The arboreal +tubes are only the prolongation of a much more elaborate system of +subterranean tunnels, which extend over large areas and mine the earth +sometimes to a depth of many feet or even yards. + +The material excavated from these underground galleries and from the +succession of domed chambers--used as nurseries or granaries--to which +they lead, has to be thrown out upon the surface. And it is from these +materials that the huge ant-hills are reared, which form so +distinctive a feature of the African landscape. These heaps and mounds +are so conspicuous that they may be seen for miles, and so numerous +are they and so useful as cover to the sportsman, that without them in +certain districts hunting would be impossible. The first things, +indeed, to strike the traveler in entering the interior are the mounds +of the white ant, now dotting the plain in groups like a small +cemetery, now rising into mounds, singly or in clusters, each thirty +or forty feet in diameter and ten or fifteen in height; or again, +standing out against the sky like obelisks, their bare sides carved +and fluted into all sorts of fantastic shapes. In India these +ant-heaps seldom attain a height of more than a couple of feet, but in +Central Africa they form veritable hills, and contain many tons of +earth. The brick houses of the Scotch mission-station on Lake Nyassa +have all been built out of a single ants' nest, and the quarry from +which the material has been derived forms a pit beside the settlement +some dozen feet in depth. A supply of bricks as large again could +probably still be taken from this convenient depot; and the +missionaries on Lake Tanganyika and onwards to Victoria Nyanza have +been similarly indebted to the labors of the termites. In South Africa +the Zulus and Kaffirs pave all their huts with white-ant earth; and +during the Boer war our troops in Pretoria, by scooping out the +interior from the smaller beehive-shaped ant-heaps and covering the +top with clay, constantly used them as ovens. These ant-heaps may be +said to abound over the whole interior of Africa, and there are +several distinct species. The most peculiar, as well as the most +ornate, is a small variety from one to two feet in height, which +occurs in myriads along the shores of Lake Tanganyika. It is built in +symmetrical tiers, and resembles a pile of small rounded hats, one +above another, the rims depending like eaves, and sheltering the body +of the hill from rain. To estimate the amount of earth per acre raised +from the waterline of the subsoil by white ants, would not in some +districts be an impossible task; and it would be found probably that +the quantity at least equaled that manipulated annually in temperate +regions by the earthworm. + +These mounds, however, are more than mere waste-heaps. Like the +corresponding region underground, they are built into a meshwork of +tunnels, galleries, and chambers, where the social interests of the +community are attended to. The most spacious of these chambers, +usually far underground, is very properly allocated to the head of the +society, the queen. The queen termite is a very rare insect, and as +there are seldom more than one or at most two to a colony, and as the +royal apartments are hidden far in the earth, few persons have ever +seen a queen; and indeed most, if they did happen to come across it, +from its very singular appearance would refuse to believe that it had +any connection with white ants. It possesses indeed the true termite +head, but there the resemblance to the other members of the family +stops; for the size of the head bears about the same proportion to the +rest of the body as does the tuft on his Glengarry bonnet to a +six-foot Highlander. The phenomenal corpulence of the royal body in +the case of the queen termite is possibly due in part to want of +exercise; for once seated upon her throne, she never stirs to the end +of her days. She lies there, a large, loathsome, cylindrical package, +two or three inches long, in shape like a sausage, and as white as a +bolster. Her one duty in life is to lay eggs; and it must be confessed +she discharges her function with complete success, for in a single day +her progeny often amounts to many thousands, and for months this +enormous fecundity never slackens. The body increases slowly in size, +and through the transparent skin the long folded ovary may be seen, +with the eggs, impelled by a peristaltic motion, passing onward for +delivery to the workers, who are waiting to carry them to the +nurseries, where they are hatched. Assiduous attention meantime is +paid to the queen by other workers, who feed her diligently, with much +self-denial stuffing her with morsel after morsel from their own jaws. +A guard of honor in the shape of a few of the larger soldier ants is +also in attendance, as a last and almost unnecessary precaution. In +addition finally to the soldiers, workers, and queen, the royal +chamber has also one other inmate--the king. He is a very +ordinary-looking insect, about the same size as the soldiers, but the +arrangement of the parts of the head and body is widely different, and +like the queen he is furnished with eyes. + + + + +WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN + +(1585-1649) + +[Illustration: WILLIAM DRUMMOND] + + +It seems to be the mission of many writers to illuminate contemporary +literature and so to light the way for future students, rather than to +make any vital contribution to the achievement of their time. Such +writers reflect the culture of their own day and represent its ideals; +and although their creative work may be slight, their loss to +literature would be serious. Among these lesser men stands that +sincere poet, Drummond of Hawthornden. In Scotland under the Stuarts, +when the vital energy of the land was concentrated upon politics and +theology, native literature was reduced to a mere reflection of the +pre-Spenserian classicism of England. Into this waste of correct +mediocrity entered the poetry of William Drummond, an avowed and +enthusiastic follower of the Elizabethan school, a finished scholar, +one of the typical Scottish gentlemen who were then making Scottish +history. Courtier and trifler though he was, however, he showed +himself so true a poet of nature that his felicities of phrase seem to +anticipate the sensuous realism of Keats and his successors. + +William Drummond, born in 1585, was a cadet of the historic house +which in 1357 gave in marriage to King Robert III. the beautiful +Annabella Drummond, who was destined to become the ancestress of the +royal Stuarts of Scotland and England. In his own day the family, +whose head was the Earl of Perth, was powerful in Scottish affairs, +and the history of the clan Drummond would be largely a history of the +events which led to the Protectorate. Throughout the storm and stress +that preceded the civil war Drummond was a loyalist, though at one +time he appeared to be identified with the Covenanters. His literary +influence, which was considerable, was always thrown on the side of +the King, while the term "Drummondism" was a popular synonym for the +conservative policy. Throughout the struggle, however, Drummond seems +to have been forced into activity by circumstances rather than by +choice. He had the instincts of a recluse and a scholar. He delighted +in the society of literary men, and he was much engrossed in +philosophical speculations. + +In spite of the difficulties of distance, he managed to keep abreast +of the thought of literary London, the London of Drayton and Webster, +of Beaumont, Fletcher, Massinger, and Ford. His chief satisfaction was +to know that his own work was not unacceptable to this brilliant +group, and one of the great pleasures of his life was a visit from Ben +Jonson, who, making a walking tour to Scotland, found at Hawthornden +that congenial hospitality in which his soul delighted. Of this famous +visit, as of other important events, Drummond kept a record, in which +he set down his guest's behavior, opinions, and confidential sayings. +Warmly as he admired Jonson's genius, he found his personality +oppressive, and intrusted his criticisms to his diary. When this was +published, more than a century later, the gentle Scot was accused of +bad taste, breach of confidence, and disloyalty to friendship. But his +defense lies in the fact that the book was meant for no eyes but his +own, and that the intimacy and candor of its revelations were intended +to preserve his recollections of a memorable experience. + +If his environment was not entirely favorable to literary excellences, +it is yet very likely that Drummond developed the full measure of his +gift. He expressed the spirit of the more imaginative generation which +succeeded a hard and fettered predecessor, and it is for this that +literature owes him its peculiar debt. + +His career began in his twenty-ninth year with the publication of an +elegy on the death of Henry, Prince of Wales, eldest son of James I. +This poem, under the title 'Tears on the Death of Moeliades,' appeared +in 1613, and reached a third edition within a twelvemonth. Its two +hundred lines show the finished versification of the scholar, with +much poetic grace. It was a product of the Spenserian school, and +emphasized the fact that the representative literature of the land had +abandoned the Scottish dialect for English forms. Drummond's second +volume of poems commemorated the death of his wife and his love of +her. It is in this work that the ultimate mood of the poet appears. +Much beauty of form, a delightful sensitiveness to nature, a +luxuriance of color, and a finely tempered thoughtfulness pervade the +poems. His next production, celebrating the visit of James I. to his +native land, was entitled 'Forth Feasting,' and represented the Forth +and all its borders as rejoicing in the presence of their King. To the +reader of to-day the panegyric sounds fulsome and the poetry stilted, +and the once famous book has now merely an archaic interest. + +Drummond's reputation is based upon the 'Poems,' and upon the +Jeremy-Taylor-like 'Cypress Grove,' published in 1623 in connection +with the religious verses called 'Flowers of Sion.' 'Cypress Grove' +is an essay on death, akin in spirit to the religious temper of the +Middle Ages, and in philosophic breadth to the diviner mood of Plato. +Only a mind of a high order would have conceived so beautiful and +lofty a meditation on the Final Mystery. This brief essay marks the +utmost reach of Drummond's mind, and shows the strength of that serene +spirituality, which could thus hold its way undisturbed by the +sectarian bitterness that fixed a great gulf between England and +Scotland. 'The History of the Five Jameses,' which Drummond was ten +years in compiling and which was not published until six years after +his death, added nothing to his reputation. It lacked alike the +diligent minuteness of the chronicler and the broader view of the +historian. Many minor papers on the state of religion and politics, +chief of which is the political tract 'Irene,' show Drummond's +aggressive interest in contemporary affairs. It is not generally known +that this gentle scholar was also an inventor of military engines. In +1626 Charles I. engaged him to produce sixteen machines and "not a few +inventions besides." The biographers have remained curiously ignorant +of this phase of his activity, but the State papers show that the King +named him "our faithful subject, William Drummond of Hawthornden." He +died in 1649, his death being hastened, it was said, by his passion of +grief over the martyrdom of King Charles. + + + +SEXTAIN + + + The heaven doth not contain so many stars, + So many leaves not prostrate lie in woods + When autumn's old and Boreas sounds his wars, + So many waves have not the ocean floods, + As my rent mind hath torments all the night, + And heart spends sighs when Phoebus brings the light. + + Why should I have been partner of the light, + Who, crost in birth by bad aspéct of stars, + Have never since had happy day or night? + Why was not I a liver in the woods, + Or citizen of Thetis's crystal floods, + Than made a man, for love and fortune's wars? + + I look each day when death should end the wars, + Uncivil wars, 'twixt sense and reason's light; + My pains I count to mountains, meads, and floods, + And of my sorrow partners make the stars; + All desolate I haunt the fearful woods, + When I should give myself to rest at night. + + With watchful eyes I ne'er behold the night, + Mother of peace, but ah! to me of wars, + And Cynthia, queen-like, shining through the woods, + When straight those lamps come in my thought, whose light + My judgment dazzled, passing brightest stars, + And then mine eyes en-isle themselves with floods. + + Turn to their springs again first shall the floods, + Clear shall the sun the sad and gloomy night, + To dance about the pole cease shall the stars, + The elements renew their ancient wars + Shall first, and be deprived of place and light, + E'er I find rest in city, fields, or woods. + + End these my days, indwellers of the woods, + Take this my life, ye deep and raging floods; + Sun, never rise to clear me with thy light, + Horror and darkness, keep a lasting night; + Consume me, care, with thy intestine wars, + And stay your influence o'er me, bright stars! + + In vain the stars, indwellers of the woods, + Care, horror, wars, I call, and raging floods, + For all have sworn no night shall dim my sight. + + + +MADRIGAL + + + This world a-hunting is, + The prey poor man, the Nimrod fierce is Death; + His speedy greyhounds are + Lust, sickness, envy, care, + Strife that ne'er falls amiss, + With all those ills which haunt us while we breathe. + Now if by chance we fly + Of these the eager chase, + Old age with stealing pace + Casts up his nets, and there we panting die. + + + +REASON AND FEELING + + + I know that all beneath the moon decays, + And what by mortals in this world is brought, + In Time's great periods shall return to naught; + That fairest States have fatal nights and days. + I know that all the Muse's heavenly lays, + With toil of spirit, which are so dearly bought, + As idle sounds, of few or none are sought,-- + That there is nothing lighter than vain praise. + I know frail beauty like the purple flower, + To which one morn oft birth and death affords; + That love a jarring is of minds' accords, + Where sense and will envassal Reason's power: + Know what I list, all this cannot me move, + But that, alas! I both must write and love. + + + +DEGENERACY OF THE WORLD + + + What hapless hap had I for to be born + In these unhappy times, and dying days + Of this now doting World, when Good decays, + Love's quite extinct, and Virtue's held a-scorn! + When such are only prized, by wretched ways, + Who with a golden fleece them can adorn; + When avarice and lust are counted praise, + And bravest minds live orphan-like forlorn! + Why was not I born in that golden age + When gold was not yet known? and those black arts. + By which base worldlings vilely play their parts, + With horrid acts staining Earth's stately stage? + To have been then, O Heaven! 't had been my bliss; + But bless me now, and take me soon from this. + + + +THE BRIEFNESS OF LIFE + + + Look, how the flower which ling'ringly doth fade, + The morning's darling late, the summer's queen, + Spoiled of that juice which kept it fresh and green, + As high as it did raise, bows low the head: + Right so my life, contentment being dead, + Or in their contraries but only seen, + With swifter speed declines than erst it spread, + And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been. + As doth the pilgrim, therefore, whom the night + By darkness would imprison on his way,-- + Think on thy home, my soul, and think aright, + Of what's yet left thee of life's wasting day; + Thy sun posts westward, passèd is thy morn, + And twice it is not given thee to be born. + + + +THE UNIVERSE + + + Of this fair volume which we World do name, + If we the leaves and sheets could turn with care-- + Of Him who it corrects and did it frame + We clear might read the art and wisdom rare, + Find out his power, which wildest powers doth tame, + His providence, extending everywhere, + His justice, which proud rebels doth not spare, + In every page and period of the same. + But silly we, like foolish children, rest + Well pleased with colored vellum, leaves of gold, + Fair dangling ribands, leaving what is best; + On the great Writer's sense ne'er taking hold; + Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught, + It is some picture on the margin wrought. + + + +ON DEATH + +From 'Cypress Grove' + + +Death is a piece of the order of this all, a part of the life of this +world; for while the world is the world, some creatures must die and +others take life. Eternal things are raised far above this orb of +generation and corruption where the First Matter, like a still flowing +and ebbing sea, with diverse waves but the same water, keepeth a +restless and never tiring current; what is below in the universality +of its kind doth not in itself abide.... If thou dost complain there +shall be a time in the which thou shalt not be, why dost thou not too +grieve that there was a time in which thou wast not, and so that thou +art not as old as the enlivening planet of Time?... The excellent +fabric of the universe itself shall one day suffer ruin, or change +like ruin, and poor earthlings, thus to be handled, complain! + + + + +JOHN DRYDEN + +(1631-1700) + +BY THOMAS R. LOUNSBURY + + +John Dryden, the foremost man of letters of the period following the +Restoration, was born at Aldwinkle, a village of Northamptonshire, on +August 9th, 1631. He died May 1st, 1700. His life was therefore coeval +with the closing period of the fierce controversies which culminated +in the civil war and the triumph of the Parliamentary party; that, in +turn, to be followed successively by the iron rule of Cromwell, by the +restoration of the exiled Stuarts, and the reactionary tendencies in +politics that accompanied that event; and finally with the effectual +exclusion from the throne of this same family by the revolution of +1688, leaving behind, however, to their successors a smoldering +Jacobite hostility that perpetually plotted the overthrow of the new +government and later broke out twice into open revolt. All these +changes of fortune, with their changes of opinion, are faithfully +reflected in the productions of Dryden. To understand him thoroughly +requires therefore an intimate familiarity with the civil and +religious movements which characterize the whole period. Equally also +do his writings, both creative and critical, represent the revolution +of literary taste that took place in the latter half of the +seventeenth century. It was while he was in the midst of his +intellectual activity that French canons of criticism became largely +the accepted rules, by which the value of English productions was +tested. This was especially true of the drama. The study of Dryden is +accordingly a study of the political and literary history of his times +to an extent that is correspondingly true of no other English author +before or since. + +His family, both on the father's and the mother's side, was in full +sympathy with the party opposed to the court. The son was educated at +Westminster, then under the mastership of Richard Busby, whose +relentless use of the rod has made his name famous in that long line +of flagellants who have been at the head of the great English public +schools. From Westminster he went to Trinity College, Cambridge. There +he received the degree of A. B. in January 1654. Later in that same +decade--the precise date is not known--he took up his residence in +London; and in London the rest of his life was almost entirely spent. + +Dryden's first published literary effort appeared in a little volume +made up of thirty-three elegies, by various authors, on the death of a +youth of great promise who had been educated at Westminster. This was +Lord Hastings, the eldest son of the Earl of Huntingdon. He had died +of the small-pox. Dryden's contribution was written in 1649, and +consisted of but little over a hundred lines. No one expects great +verse from a boy of eighteen; but the most extravagant anticipations +of sorry performance will fail to come up to the reality of the +wretchedness which was here attained. It was in words like these that +the future laureate bewailed the death of the young nobleman and +depicted the disease of which he died:-- + + "Was there no milder way but the small-pox, + The very filthiness of Pandora's box? + So many spots, like naeves, our Venus soil? + One jewel set off with so many a foil? + Blisters with pride swelled, which through his flesh did sprout + Like rosebuds, stuck in the lily-skin about. + Each little pimple had a tear in it, + To wail the fault its rising did commit; + Which, rebel-like, with its own lord at strife, + Thus made an insurrection 'gainst his life. + Or were these gems sent to adorn his skin, + The cabinet of a richer soul within? + No comet need foretell his change drew on, + Whose corps might seem a constellation." + +Criticism cannot be rendered sufficiently vituperative to characterize +properly such a passage. It is fuller of conceits than ever Cowley +crowded into the same space; and lines more crabbed and inharmonious +Donne never succeeded in perpetrating. Its production upsets all +principles of prophecy. The wretchedest of poetasters can take +courage, when he contemplates the profundity of the depth out of which +uprose the greatest poet of his time. + +[Illustration: John Dryden.] + +Dryden is, in fact, an example of that somewhat rare class of writers +who steadily improve with advancing years. Most poets write their best +verse before middle life. Many of them after that time go through a +period of decline, and sometimes of rapid decline; and if they live to +reach old age, they add to the quantity of their production without +sensibly increasing its value. This general truth is conspicuously +untrue of Dryden. His first work gave no promise of his future +excellence, and it was by very slow degrees that he attained to the +mastery of his art. But the older he grew, the better he wrote; and +the volume published a few months before his death, and largely +composed almost under its shadow, so far from showing the slightest +sign of failing power, contains a great deal of the best poetry he +ever produced. + +As Dryden's relatives were Puritans, and some of them held place under +the government, it was natural that upon coming to London he should +attach himself to that party. Accordingly it is no surprise to find +him duly mourning the death of the great Protector in certain 'Heroic +Stanzas Consecrated to the Memory of Oliver Cromwell.' The first +edition bears the date of 1659, and so far as we know, the production +was Dryden's second venture in poetry. It was written in the measure +of Davenant's 'Gondibert,' and is by no means a poor piece of work, +though it has been sometimes so styled. It certainly pays not simply a +high but a discerning tribute to the genius of Cromwell. Before two +years had gone by, we find its author greeting the return of Charles +with effusive loyalty, and with predictions of prosperity and honor to +attend his reign, which events were soon woefully to belie. The poet +has been severely censured for this change of attitude. It is a +censure which might be bestowed with as much propriety upon the whole +population of England. The joyful expectations to which he gave +utterance were almost universal; and no other charge can well be +brought against him than that he had the ability and took the occasion +to express sentiments which were felt by nearly the entire nation. + +From this time on, Dryden appears more and more in the public eye, and +slowly but steadily forged his way to the front as the representative +man of letters of his time. In 1670 he was appointed to the two +distinct offices of poet laureate and historiographer royal. +Thenceforward his relations with the court became close, and so they +did not cease to be until the expulsion of James II. In 1683 he +received a further mark of royal favor, in being made collector of +customs of the port of London. In the political controversies which +subsequently arose, Dryden's writings faithfully represented the +sentiments of the side he had chosen, and expressed their prejudices +and aversions not merely with force but also with virulence. His first +literary activity, however, was on neutral ground. After eighteen +years of compulsory closing, the Restoration opened wide once more the +doors of the theatre. Dryden, like every one else possessed of +literary ability, began to write for the stage. His first play, a +comedy entitled 'The Wild Gallant,' was brought out in February 1663; +and for the eighteen years following, it was compositions of such +nature that occupied the main portion of his literary life. During +that time he produced wholly or in part twenty-two comedies and +tragedies. His pieces must from the outset have met with a fair degree +of success, otherwise the King's Company would not have entered into a +contract with him, as it did in 1667, to furnish for them each year a +fixed number of plays, in consideration of his receiving a certain +share of the profits of the theatre. + +Yet it cannot be said that Dryden was in any respect a dramatist of +a high order. As a writer of comedy he was not only inferior to +contemporaries and immediate successors like Wycherley, Congreve, +Vanbrugh, and Farquhar, but in certain ways he was surpassed by +Shadwell, the very man whom he himself has consigned to a disagreeable +immortality as the hero of the 'MacFlecknoe.' His comedies are not +merely full of obscenity,--which seems to have been a necessary +ingredient to suit them to the taste of the age,--but they are full of +a peculiarly disagreeable obscenity. One of his worst offenses in this +direction, and altogether his most impudent one, was his adaptation +for the stage of Shakespeare's 'Tempest.' The two plays are worth +reading together for the sake of seeing how easily a pure and perfect +creation of genius can be vulgarized in language and spirit almost +beyond the possibility of recognition. In his tragedies, however, +Dryden was much more successful. Yet even these, in spite of the +excellence of occasional passages, do not attain to a high rank. +Indeed, thought and expression are at times extravagant, not to say +stilted, to an extent which afterward led him himself to make them the +subject of ridicule. It was in them, however, during these years that +he perfected by degrees his mastery of heroic verse, of which later he +was to display the capabilities in a way that had never previously +been seen and has never since been surpassed. + +A controversy in regard to the proper method of composing plays +brought forward Dryden, at an early period in his literary career, as +a writer of prose. In this he at once attained unusual eminence. In +him appear for the first time united the two characters of poet and of +critic. Ben Jonson had in a measure preceded him in this respect; but +Jonson's criticism was not so much devoted to the examination of +general principles as to the exposure of the hopeless, helpless +obtuseness of the men who had a different opinion of his works from +what he himself entertained. The questions discussed by Dryden were of +a more general nature. With the Stuarts had come in French literary +tastes and French literary methods. The age was supposed to be too +refined to be pleased with what had satisfied the coarse palates of +preceding generations. In stage-writing in particular, the doctrine of +the unities, almost uniformly violated by Shakespeare and most of the +Elizabethans, was now held up as the only correct method of +composition that could be employed by any writer who sought to conform +to the true principles of art. Along with this came the substitution +in the drama of rhyme for blank verse. Upon the comparative merits of +these two as employed in tragedy, arose the first controversy in which +Dryden was engaged. This one was with his brother-in-law, Sir Robert +Howard; for in 1663 Dryden had become the husband of the daughter of +the Earl of Berkshire, thus marrying, as Pope expressed it, "misery in +a noble wife." Dryden was an advocate of rhyme; and the controversy on +this point began with the publication in 1668 of his 'Essay of +Dramatic Poesy.' It was afterward carried on by both parties, in +prefaces to the plays they successively published. The prefaces to +these productions regularly became later the place where Dryden laid +down his critical doctrines on all points that engaged his attention; +and whether we agree with his views or not, we are always sure to be +charmed with the manner in which they are expressed. + +In 1667 Dryden published a long poem entitled 'Annus Mirabilis.' It +was in the same measure as the stanzas on Oliver Cromwell. It gave him +a good deal of reputation at the time; but though it is far from being +a despicable performance, few there are now who read it and still +fewer who re-read it. Far different has been the fate of his next +work. It was not until 1681, when England was beginning to emerge +slowly from the excitement and agitation growing out of the alleged +Popish plot, that he brought out his 'Absalom and Achitophel,' without +question the greatest combined poetical and political satire to be +found in our tongue. Here it was that for the first time he fully +displayed his mastery over heroic verse. The notion once so widely +prevalent--for the vogue of which, indeed, Dryden himself is mainly +responsible--that Waller and Denham brought this verse to perfection, +it now requires both extensive and special ignorance of our earlier +authors to entertain; but on the other hand, there is no question that +he himself imparted to the line a variety, vigor, and sustained +majesty of movement such as the verse in its modern form had never +previously received. There is therefore a fairly full measure of truth +in the lines in which he was characterized by Pope:-- + + "Waller was smooth; but Dryden taught to join + The varying verse, the full resounding line, + The long majestic march and energy divine." + +These lines of Pope, it may be added, exemplify purposely two +peculiarities of Dryden's versification,--the occasional use of the +triplet instead of the regular couplet, and of the Alexandrine, or +line of six feet, in place of the usual line of five. + +The poem is largely an attack upon the Earl of Shaftesbury, who in it +bears the title of Achitophel. The portrayal of this statesman, which +is given in this volume, is ample evidence of that skill of the poet +in characterization which has made the pictures he drew immortal. +Perhaps even more effective was the description of the Duke of +Buckingham, under the designation of Zimri. For attacking that +nobleman Dryden had both political and personal reasons. Buckingham +had now joined the opponents of the court. Ten years previously the +poet himself had been brought by him on the stage, with the aid of +others, in the play called "The Rehearsal." His usual actions had been +mimicked, his usual expressions had been put into the mouth of the +character created to represent him, who was styled Bayes. This title +had been given him because Dryden figuratively wore the bays, or +laurel, as poet laureate. The name henceforward stuck. Dryden's turn +had now come; and it was in these following lines that he drew the +unfaded and fadeless picture of this nobleman, whose reputation even +then was notorious rather than famous, and whose intellect was +motley-minded rather than versatile:-- + + "Some of their chiefs were princes of the land; + In the front rank of these did Zimri stand, + A man so various that he seemed to be + Not one, but all mankind's epitome. + Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, + Was everything by starts and nothing long, + But in the course of one revolving moon + Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon; + Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, + Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking. + Blest madman, who could every hour employ + With something new to wish or to enjoy! + Railing and praising were his usual themes, + And both, to show his judgment, in extremes: + So over-violent or over-civil + That every man with him was God or Devil. + In squandering wealth was his peculiar art: + Nothing went unrewarded but desert. + Beggared by fools whom still he found too late, + He had his jest, and they had his estate." + +As an example of the loftier and more majestic style occasionally +found in this poem, is the powerful appeal of Achitophel to Absalom. +The latter, it is to be said, stands for the Duke of Monmouth, the +eldest of the illegitimate sons of Charles II. Him many of the +so-called country party, now beginning to be styled Whigs, were +endeavoring to have recognized as the next successor to the throne, in +place of the Roman Catholic brother of the king, James, Duke of York. +As a favorite son of the monarch, he, though then in opposition, is +treated tenderly by Dryden throughout; and this feeling is plainly +visible in the opening of the address to him put into the mouth of +Achitophel, in these words:-- + + "Auspicious prince, at whose nativity + Some royal planet ruled the southern sky, + Thy longing country's darling and desire, + Their cloudy pillar and their guardian fire, + Their second Moses, whose extended wand + Divides the seas and shows the promised land, + Whose dawning day in every distant age + Has exercised the sacred prophet's rage, + The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme, + The young men's vision and the old men's dream,-- + Thee savior, thee the nation's vows confess, + And never satisfied with seeing, bless." + +Dryden followed up the attack upon Shaftesbury with a poem entitled +'The Medal.' This satire, which appeared in March 1682, was called +forth by the action of the partisans of the Whig leader in having a +medal struck commemorating his release from the Tower, after the grand +jury had thrown out the charge of treason which had been brought +against him. Both of these pieces were followed by a host of replies. +Some of them did not refrain from personal attack, which indeed had a +certain justification in the poet's own violence of denunciation. The +most abusive of these was a poem by Thomas Shadwell, entitled 'The +Medal of John Bayes.' Such persons as fancy Dryden's subsequent +punishment of that dramatist unwarranted in its severity should in +justice read this ferociously scurrilous diatribe, in which every +charge against the poet that malice or envy had concocted and rumor +had set afloat, was here industriously raked together; and to the +muck-heap thus collected, the intimacy of previous acquaintance was +doubtless enabled to contribute its due quota of malignant assertion +and more malignant insinuation. Shadwell was soon supplied, however, +with ample reason to regret his action. Dryden's first and best known +rejoinder is 'MacFlecknoe, or a Satire on the True Blue Protestant +Poet T. S.' This production has always had the reputation in +literature of being the severest personal satire in the language; but +it requires now for its appreciation an intimate acquaintance with +Shadwell's plays, which very few possess. It is further disfigured in +places by a coarseness from which, indeed, none of the poet's writings +were certain to be free. Its general spirit can be indicated by a +brief extract from its opening paragraph. Flecknoe, it is to be said, +was a feeble poet who had died a few years before. He is here +represented as having long reigned over the kingdom of dullness, but +knowing that his end was close at hand, determines to settle the +succession to the State. Accordingly he fixes upon his son Shadwell as +the one best fitted to take his place in ruling over the realm of +nonsense, and in continuing the war with wit and sense. The +announcement of his intention he begins in the following words:-- + + "--Tis resolved, for Nature pleads that he + Should only rule who most resembles me. + Shadwell alone my perfect image bears, + Mature in dullness from his tender years; + Shadwell alone of all my sons is he + Who stands confirmed in full stupidity. + The rest to some faint meaning make pretense, + But Shadwell never deviates into sense." + +Far more bitter, however, was the renewed attack which a month later +Dryden inserted in the two hundred lines he contributed to the +continuation of 'Absalom and Achitophel' that was written by Nahum +Tate. In this second part, which came out in November 1682, he devoted +himself in particular to two of his opponents, Settle and Shadwell, +under the names respectively of Doeg and Og--"two fools," he says, in +his energetic way,-- + + "That crutch their feeble sense on verse; + Who by my Muse to all succeeding times + Shall live in spite of their own doggerel rhymes." + +Of Settle, whose poetry was possessed of much smoothness but little +sense, he spoke in a tone of contemptuous good-nature, though the +object of the attack must certainly have deemed the tender mercies of +Dryden to be cruel. It was in this way he was described, to quote a +few lines:-- + + "Spiteful he is not, though he wrote a satire, + For still there goes some thinking to ill-nature. + . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + Let him be gallows-free by my consent, + And nothing suffer, since he nothing meant; + Hanging supposes human soul and reason,-- + This animal's below committing treason: + Shall he be hanged who never could rebel? + That's a preferment for Achitophel. + . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + Let him rail on; let his invective Muse + Have four-and-twenty letters to abuse, + Which if he jumbles to one line of sense, + Indict him of a capital offense." + +But it was not till he came to the portraiture of Shadwell that he +gave full vent to the ferocity of his satire. He taunted him with the +unwieldiness of his bulk, the grossness of his habits, with his want +of wealth, and finally closed up with some lines into which he +concentrated all the venom of his previous attacks:-- + + "But though Heaven made him poor, with reverence speaking, + He never was a poet of God's making + The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull, + With this prophetic blessing--_Be thou dull_; + Drink, swear, and roar, forbear no lewd delight + Fit for thy bulk; do anything but write. + Thou art of lasting make, like thoughtless men; + A strong nativity--but for the pen; + Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink, + Still thou mayest live, avoiding pen and ink. + I see, I see, 'tis counsel given in vain, + For treason, botched in rhyme, will be thy bane; + Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck; + 'Tis fatal to thy fame and to thy neck. + + * * * * * + + "A double noose thou on thy neck dost pull, + For writing treason and for writing dull; + To die for faction is a common evil, + But to be hanged for nonsense is the devil. + Hadst thou the glories of thy King exprest, + Thy praises had been satires at the best; + But thou in clumsy verse, unlicked, unpointed, + Hast shamefully defied the Lord's anointed. + I will not rake the dunghill of thy crimes, + For who would read thy life that reads thy rhymes? + But of King David's foes be this the doom,-- + May all be like the young man Absalom; + And for my foes may this their blessing be,-- + To talk like Doeg and to write like thee." + +Refinement of tone is not the distinguishing characteristic of satire +of this sort. It does not attack its object by delicate insinuation or +remote suggestion. It operates by heavy downright blows which crush by +the mere weight and power of the stroke. There was in truth in those +days a certain brutality not only permitted but expected in the way +men spoke of each other, and Dryden conformed in this as in other +respects to the manners and methods of his age. But of its kind the +attack is perfect. The blows of a bludgeon which make of the victim a +shapeless mass kill as effectively as the steel or poison which leaves +every feature undisturbed, and to the common apprehension it serves to +render the killing more manifest. At any rate, so long as a person has +been done to death, it makes comparatively little difference how the +death was brought about; and the object in this instance of Dryden's +attack, though a man of no mean abilities, has never recovered from +the demolition which his reputation then underwent. + +In 1685 Charles II. died, and his brother James ascended the throne. In +the following year Dryden went over to the Roman Catholic Church. No +act of his life has met with severer censure. Nor can there be any +doubt that the time he took to change his religion afforded ground for +distrusting the sincerity of his motives. A king was on the throne who +was straining every nerve to bring the Church of England once more +under the sway of the Church of Rome. Obviously the adoption of the +latter faith would recommend the poet to the favor of the bigoted +monarch, and tend to advance his personal interests. There is no +wonder, therefore, that he should at the time have been accused of +being actuated by the unworthiest of reasons, and that the charge +should continue to be repeated to our day. Yet a close study of +Dryden's life and writings indicates that the step he took was a +natural if not an inevitable outcome of the processes through which +his opinions had been passing. He had been early trained in the strict +tenets of the Puritan party. From these he had been carried over to +the loose beliefs and looser life that followed everywhere hard upon +the Restoration. By the sentiments then prevailing he was profoundly +affected. Nothing in the writings of the first half of his literary +life is more marked--not even his flings at matrimony--than the +scoffing way in which he usually spoke of the clergy. His tone towards +them is almost always contemptuous, where it is not positively +vituperative. His famous political satire began with this line-- + + "In pious times, ere priestcraft did begin;"-- + +and a little later in the course of the same poem he observed that-- + + "Fraud was used, the sacrificer's trade," + +the "sacrificer" here denoting the priest. This feeling toward the +clergy never in truth deserted him entirely. But no one who reads +carefully his 'Religio Laici,' a poem published in 1682, can fail to +perceive that even then he had not only drifted far away from the +faith of his childhood, but had begun to be tormented and perplexed by +the insoluble problems connected with the life and destiny of man, and +with his relations to his Creator. The subject was not likely to weigh +less heavily upon him in the years that followed. To Dryden, as to +many before and since, it may have seemed the easiest method of +deliverance from the difficulties in which he found himself involved, +to cast the burden of doubts which disquieted the mind and depressed +the heart, upon a Church that undertakes to assume the whole +responsibility for the man's future on condition of his yielding to it +an unquestioning faith in the present. + +An immediate result of his conversion was the production in 1687 of +one of his most deservedly famous poems, 'The Hind and the Panther.' +He began it with the idea of assisting in bringing about the +reconciliation between the Panther, typifying the Church of England, +and the Hind, typifying the Church of Rome. It is apparent that +before he finished it he saw that the project was hopeless. It is a +poem of over twenty-five hundred lines, of which the opening up to +line 150 is printed in this volume. Part of the passage here cited +contains, without professing it as an object, and probably without +intending it, the best defense that could be made for his change of +religion. The production in its entirety is remarkable for the skill +which its author displayed in carrying on an argument in verse. In +this he certainly had no superior among poets, perhaps no equal. The +work naturally created a great sensation in those days of fierce +political and religious controversy. Both it and its writer were made +the object of constant attack. A criticism, in particular, appeared +upon it in the shape of a dialogue in prose with snatches of verse +interspersed. It is usually known by the title of 'The Town Mouse and +the Country Mouse,' and was exalted at the time by unreasoning +partisanship into a wonderful performance. Even to the present day, +this dreary specimen of polemics is described as a very witty work by +those who have never struggled to read it. It was the production of +Charles Montagu, the future Earl of Halifax, and of Matthew Prior. A +story too is still constantly repeated that Dryden was much hurt by +the attacks of these two young men, to whom he had been kind, and wept +over their ingratitude. If he shed any tears at all upon the occasion, +they must have been due to the mortification he felt that any two +persons who had been admitted to his friendship should have been +guilty of twaddle so desperately tedious. + +The flight of James and the accession of William and Mary threw Dryden +at once out of the favor of the court, upon which to a large extent he +had long depended for support. As a Jacobite he could not take the +oath of allegiance; but there is hardly any doubt that under any +circumstances he would have been deprived of the offices of place and +profit he held. In the laureateship he was succeeded by his old +antagonist Shadwell; and within a few years he saw the dignity of the +position still further degraded by the appointment to it of Nahum +Tate, one of the worst of the long procession of poetasters who have +filled it. Dryden henceforth belonged to the party out of power. His +feelings about his changed relations are shown plainly in the fine +epistle with which he consoled Congreve for the failure of his comedy +of the 'Double Dealer.' Yet displaced and unpensioned, and sometimes +the object of hostile attack, his literary supremacy was more absolute +than ever. All young authors, whether Whigs or Tories, sought his +society and courted his favor; and his seat at Will's coffee-house was +the throne from which he swayed the literary sceptre of England. + +After the revolution of 1688 Dryden gave himself entirely up to +authorship. He first turned to the stage; and between 1690 and 1694 +he produced five plays. With the failure in the last-mentioned year of +his tragi-comedy called 'Love Triumphant,' he abandoned writing for +the theatre. The period immediately following he devoted mainly to his +translation of Virgil, which was published in 1697. It was highly +successful; but far more reputation came to him from a large folio +volume that was brought out in November 1699, under the title of +'Fables.' Its contents consisted mainly of poetical narratives founded +upon certain stories of the 'Decameron,' and of the modernization of +some of the 'Canterbury Tales.' In certain ways these have been his +most successful pieces, and have made his name familiar to successive +generations of readers. Of the tales from Boccaccio, that of 'Cymon +and Iphigenia' is on the whole the most pleasing. The modernizations +of Chaucer were long regarded as superior to the original; and though +superior knowledge of the original has effectually banished that +belief, there is on the other hand no justification for the derogatory +terms which are now sometimes applied to Dryden's versions. + +The verse in this volume was preceded by a long critical essay in +prose. Many of its views, especially those about the language of +Chaucer, have been long discarded; but the criticism will always be +read with pleasure for the genial spirit and sound sense which pervade +it, and the unstudied ease with which it is written. Cowley and Dryden +are in fact the founders of modern English prose; and the influence of +the latter has been much greater than that of the former, inasmuch as +he touched upon a far wider variety of topics, and for that reason +obtained a far larger circle of readers in the century following his +death. There was also the same steady improvement in Dryden's critical +taste that there was in his poetical expression. His admiration for +Shakespeare constantly improved during his whole life; and it is to be +noticed that in what is generally regarded as the best of his +plays--'All for Love,' brought out in the winter of 1677-78--he of his +own accord abandoned rhyme for blank verse. + +The publication of the 'Fables' was Dryden's last appearance before +the public. In the following year he died, and was buried in +Westminster Abbey by the side of Chaucer and Cowley. After his death +his fame steadily increased instead of diminishing. For a long period +his superiority in his particular line was ungrudgingly conceded by +all, or if contested, was contested by Pope alone. His poetry indeed +is not of the highest kind, though usually infinitely superior to that +of his detractors. Still his excellences were those of the intellect +and not of the spirit. On the higher planes of thought and feeling he +rarely moves; to the highest he never aspires. The nearest he ever +approaches to the former is in his later work, where religious +emotion or religious zeal has lent to expression the aid of its +intensity. There is a striking example of this in the personal +references to his own experiences in the lines cited below from 'The +Hind and the Panther.' Something too of the same spirit can be found, +expressed in lofty language, in the following passage from the same +poem, descriptive of the unity of the Church of Rome as contrasted +with the numerous warring sects into which the Protestant body is +divided:-- + + "One in herself, not rent by schism, but sound, + Entire, one solid shining diamond, + Not sparkles shattered into sects like you: + One is the Church, and must be to be true, + One central principle of unity. + As undivided, so from errors free; + As one in faith, so one in sanctity. + Thus she, and none but she, the insulting rage + Of heretics opposed from age to age; + Still when the giant brood invades her throne, + She stoops from heaven and meets them half-way down, + And with paternal thunders vindicates her crown. + + * * * * * + + "Thus one, thus pure, behold her largely spread, + Like the fair ocean from her mother-bed; + From east to west triumphantly she rides, + All shores are watered by her wealthy tides. + The gospel sound diffused from Pole to Pole, + Where winds can carry and where waves can roll, + The selfsame doctrine of the sacred page + Conveyed to every clime, in every age." + +But though Dryden's poetry is not of the highest class, it is of the +very highest kind in its class. Wherever the pure intellect comes into +play, there he is invariably excellent. There is never any weakness; +there is never any vagueness; there is never any deviation from the +true path into aimless digression. His words invariably go straight to +the mark, and not unfrequently with a directness and force that fully +merit the epithet of "burning" applied to them by the poet Gray. His +thoughts always rise naturally out of the matter in hand; and in the +treatment of the meanest subjects he is not only never mean, but often +falls without apparent effort into a felicity of phrase which holds +the attention and implants itself in the memory. The benefit of +exercise, for instance, is not a topic that can be deemed highly +poetical; but in his epistle on country life addressed to his cousin +John Driden, the moment he comes to speak of hunting and its salutary +results his expression at once leaves the commonplace, and embodies +the thought in these pointed lines:-- + + "So lived our sires, ere doctors learned to kill, + And multiply with theirs the weekly bill. + The first physicians by debauch were made; + Excess began, and sloth sustains the trade. + . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + By chase our long-lived fathers earned their food; + Toil strung the nerves and purified the blood: + But we their sons, a pampered race of men, + Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten. + Better to hunt in fields for health unbought + Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. + The wise for cure on exercise depend; + God never made his work for man to mend." + +In a similar way in 'Cymon and Iphigenia' the contempt which Dryden, +in common with the Tories of his time, felt for the English militia +force, found vent in the following vigorous passage, really +descriptive of them and their conduct though the scene is laid in +Rhodes:-- + + "The country rings around with loud alarms, + And raw in fields the rude militia swarms; + Mouths without hands; maintained at vast expense, + In peace a charge, in war a weak defense; + Stout once a month they march, a blustering band, + And ever, but in times of need, at hand: + This was the morn when, issuing on the guard, + Drawn up in rank and file they stood prepared + Of seeming arms to make a short essay, + Then hasten to be drunk, the business of the day." + +In a world where what is feeble in expression is so often supposed to +indicate peculiar delicacy; where what is vague is so often deemed +peculiarly poetical; and where what is involved and crabbed and hard +to comprehend is thought to denote peculiar profundity,--it is a +pleasure to turn to a writer with a rank settled by the consensus of +successive generations, who thought clearly and wrote forcibly, who +knew always what he had to say and then said it with directness and +power. There are greater poets than he; but so long as men continue to +delight in vividness of expression, in majesty of numbers, in +masculine strength and all-abounding vigor, so long will Dryden +continue to hold his present high place among English authors. + +The writings of Dryden constitute of themselves a literature. They +treat of a vast variety of topics in many different departments of +intellectual activity. The completest edition of his works was first +published in 1808 under the editorship of Walter Scott. It fills +twenty-one volumes, the first of which however is devoted to a +biography. The notes to this edition are generally excellent; the text +is very indifferent. A revised edition of it has been recently +published under the editorship of George Saintsbury. But easily +accessible is a single-volume edition of the poems alone, edited by W. +D. Christie, which furnishes a superior text, and is amply supplied +with all necessary annotations. + +[Illustration: Signature (Thomas R. Lounsbury)] + + + +FROM 'THE HIND AND THE PANTHER' + + + A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged, + Fed on the lawns and in the forest ranged; + Without unspotted, innocent within, + She feared no danger, for she knew no sin. + Yet had she oft been chased with horns and hounds, + And Scythian shafts, and many winged wounds + Aimed at her heart; was often forced to fly, + And doomed to death, though fated not to die. + + Not so her young; for their unequal line + Was hero's make, half human, half divine. + Their earthly mold obnoxious was to fate, + The immortal part assumed immortal state. + Of these a slaughtered army lay in blood, + Extended o'er the Caledonian wood, + Their native walk; whose vocal blood arose + And cried for pardon on their perjured foes. + Their fate was fruitful, and the sanguine seed, + Endued with souls, increased the sacred breed. + So captive Israel multiplied in chains, + A numerous exile, and enjoyed her pains. + With grief and gladness mixed, their mother viewed + Her martyred offspring and their race renewed; + Their corps to perish, but their kind to last, + So much the deathless plant the dying fruit surpassed. + + Panting and pensive now she ranged alone, + And wandered in the kingdoms once her own. + The common hunt, though from their rage restrained + By sovereign power, her company disdained, + Grinned as they passed, and with a glaring eye + Gave gloomy signs of secret enmity. + 'Tis true she bounded by and tripped so light, + They had not time to take a steady sight; + For truth has such a face and such a mien + As to be loved needs only to be seen. + + The bloody Bear, an independent beast, + Unlicked to form, in groans her hate expressed. + Among the timorous kind the quaking Hare + Professed neutrality, but would not swear. + Next her the buffoon Ape, as atheists use, + Mimicked all sects and had his own to chuse; + Still when the Lion looked, his knees he bent, + And paid at church a courtier's compliment. + The bristled baptist Boar, impure as he, + But whitened with the foam of sanctity, + With fat pollutions filled the sacred place, + And mountains leveled in his furious race; + So first rebellion founded was in grace. + But since the mighty ravage which he made + In German forests had his guilt betrayed, + With broken tusks and with a borrowed name, + He shunned the vengeance and concealed the shame, + So lurked in sects unseen. With greater guile + False Reynard fed on consecrated spoil; + The graceless beast by Athanasius first + Was chased from Nice, then by Socinus nursed, + His impious race their blasphemy renewed, + And Nature's King through Nature's optics viewed; + Reversed they viewed him lessened to their eye, + Nor in an infant could a God descry. + New swarming sects to this obliquely tend, + Hence they began, and here they all will end. + + What weight of ancient witness can prevail, + If private reason hold the public scale? + But gracious God, how well dost thou provide + For erring judgments an unerring guide! + Thy throne is darkness in the abyss of light, + A blaze of glory that forbids the sight. + O teach me to believe thee thus concealed, + And search no farther than thy self revealed, + But her alone for my director take, + Whom thou hast promised never to forsake! + My thoughtless youth was winged with vain desires; + My manhood, long misled by wandering fires, + Followed false lights; and when their glimpse was gone, + My pride struck out new sparkles of her own. + Such was I, such by nature still I am; + Be thine the glory and be mine the shame! + Good life be now my task; my doubts are done; + What more could fright my faith than Three in One? + Can I believe eternal God could lie + Disguised in mortal mold and infancy, + That the great Maker of the world could die? + And after that, trust my imperfect sense + Which calls in question his omnipotence? + Can I my reason to my faith compel, + And shall my sight and touch and taste rebel? + Superior faculties are set aside; + Shall their subservient organs be my guide? + Then let the moon usurp the rule of day, + And winking tapers show the sun his way; + For what my senses can themselves perceive + I need no revelation to believe. + Can they, who say the Host should be descried + By sense, define a body glorified, + Impassible, and penetrating parts? + Let them declare by what mysterious arts + He shot that body through the opposing might + Of bolts and bars impervious to the light, + And stood before his train confessed in open sight. + For since thus wondrously he passed, 'tis plain + One single place two bodies did contain; + And sure the same omnipotence as well + Can make one body in more places dwell. + Let Reason then at her own quarry fly; + But how can finite grasp infinity? + + 'Tis urged again, that faith did first commence + By miracles, which are appeals to sense, + And thence concluded, that our sense must be + The motive still of credibility. + For latter ages must on former wait, + And what began belief must propagate. + + But winnow well this thought, and you shall find + 'Tis light as chaff that flies before the wind. + Were all those wonders wrought by power Divine + As means or ends of some more deep design? + Most sure as means, whose end was this alone, + To prove the Godhead of the Eternal Son. + God thus asserted: Man is to believe + Beyond what Sense and Reason can conceive, + And for mysterious things of faith rely + On the proponent Heaven's authority. + If then our faith we for our guide admit, + Vain is the farther search of human wit; + As when the building gains a surer stay, + We take the unuseful scaffolding away. + Reason by sense no more can understand; + The game is played into another hand. + Why choose we then like bilanders to creep + Along the coast, and land in view to keep, + When safely we may launch into the deep? + In the same vessel which our Savior bore, + Himself the pilot, let us leave the shore, + And with a better guide a better world explore. + Could he his Godhead veil with flesh and blood + And not veil these again to be our food? + His grace in both is equal in extent; + The first affords us life, the second nourishment. + + And if he can, why all this frantic pain + To construe what his clearest words contain, + And make a riddle what he made so plain? + To take up half on trust and half to try, + Name it not faith, but bungling bigotry. + Both knave and fool the merchant we may call, + To pay great sums and to compound the small, + For who would break with Heaven, and would not break for all? + + Rest then, my soul, from endless anguish freed: + Nor sciences thy guide, nor sense thy creed. + Faith is the best insurer of thy bliss; + The bank above must fail before the venture miss. + + + +TO MY DEAR FRIEND MR. CONGREVE + +ON HIS COMEDY CALLED 'THE DOUBLE DEALER' + + + Well then, the promised hour is come at last; + The present age of wit obscures the past: + Strong were our sires, and as they fought they writ; + Conquering with force of arms and dint of wit: + Theirs was the giant race before the flood; + And thus, when Charles returned, our empire stood. + Like Janus, he the stubborn soil manured, + With rules of husbandry the rankness cured; + Tamed us to manners, when the stage was rude, + And boisterous English wit with art endued. + Our age was cultivated thus at length, + But what we gained in skill we lost in strength. + Our builders were with want of genius curst; + The second temple was not like the first; + Till you, the best Vitruvius, come at length, + Our beauties equal, but excel our strength. + Firm Doric pillars found your solid base, + The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space; + Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace. + In easy dialogue is Fletcher's praise; + He moved the mind, but had not power to raise. + Great Jonson did by strength of judgment please, + Yet, doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his ease. + In differing talents both adorned their age, + One for the study, t'other for the stage. + But both to Congreve justly shall submit, + One matched in judgment, both o'ermatched in wit. + In him all beauties of this age we see: + Etherege his courtship, Southern's purity, + The satire, wit, and strength of manly Wycherley. + All this in blooming youth you have achieved; + Nor are your foiled contemporaries grieved. + So much the sweetness of your manners move, + We cannot envy you, because we love. + Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he saw + A beardless Consul made against the law, + And join his suffrage to the votes of Rome, + Though he with Hannibal was overcome. + Thus old Romano bowed to Raphael's fame, + And scholar to the youth he taught became. + + O that your brows my laurel had sustained! + Well had I been deposed, if you had reigned: + The father had descended for the son, + For only you are lineal to the throne. + Thus, when the State one Edward did depose, + A greater Edward in his room arose: + But now, not I, but poetry, is curst; + For Tom the second reigns like Tom the first. + But let them not mistake my patron's part, + Nor call his charity their own desert. + Yet this I prophesy: Thou shalt be seen, + Though with some short parenthesis between, + High on the throne of wit, and seated there, + Not mine--that's little--but thy laurel wear. + Thy first attempt an early promise made; + That early promise this has more than paid. + So bold, yet so judiciously you dare, + That your least praise is to be regular. + Time, place, and action may with pains be wrought, + But genius must be born, and never can be taught. + This is your portion, this your native store: + Heaven, that but once was prodigal before, + To Shakespeare gave as much; she could not give him more. + + Maintain your post: that's all the fame you need; + For 'tis impossible you should proceed. + Already I am worn with cares and age, + And just abandoning the ungrateful stage: + Unprofitably kept at Heaven's expense, + I live a rent-charge on His providence: + But you, whom every Muse and grace adorn, + Whom I foresee to better fortune born, + Be kind to my remains; and oh, defend, + Against your judgment, your departed friend! + Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue, + But shade those laurels which descend to you: + And take for tribute what these lines express; + You merit more, nor could my love do less. + + + +ODE + +TO THE PIOUS MEMORY OF THE ACCOMPLISHED YOUNG LADY + +MRS. ANNE KILLIGREW, + +EXCELLENT IN THE TWO SISTER ARTS OF POESY AND PAINTING. + + + Thou youngest virgin daughter of the skies, + Made in the last promotion of the blest; + Whose palms, new-plucked from Paradise, + In spreading branches more sublimely rise, + Rich with immortal green above the rest: + Whether, adopted to some neighboring star, + Thou roll'st above us in thy wandering race, + Or in procession fixed and regular + Moved with the heaven's majestic pace, + Or called to more superior bliss, + Thou tread'st with seraphims the vast abyss: + Whatever happy region be thy place, + Cease thy celestial song a little space; + Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine, + Since Heaven's eternal year is thine. + Hear then a mortal Muse thy praise rehearse + In no ignoble verse, + But such as thy own voice did practice here, + When thy first fruits of poesy were given, + To make thyself a welcome inmate there; + While yet a young probationer, + And candidate of Heaven. + + If by traduction came thy mind, + Our wonder is the less to find + A soul so charming from a stock so good; + Thy father was transfused into thy blood: + So wert thou born into the tuneful strain + (An early, rich, and inexhausted vein). + But if thy pre-existing soul + Was formed at first with myriads more, + It did through all the mighty poets roll + Who Greek or Latin laurels wore, + And was that Sappho last, which once it was before. + If so, then cease thy flight, O heaven-born mind! + Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore: + Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find + Than was the beauteous frame she left behind: + Return, to fill or mend the quire of thy celestial kind. + + May we presume to say that at thy birth + New joy was sprung in heaven, as well as here on earth? + For sure the milder planets did combine + On thy auspicious horoscope to shine, + And even the most malicious were in trine. + Thy brother angels at thy birth + Strung each his lyre, and tuned it high, + That all the people of the sky + Might know a poetess was born on earth; + And then, if ever, mortal ears + Had heard the music of the spheres. + And if no clustering swarm of bees + On thy sweet mouth distilled their golden dew, + 'Twas that such vulgar miracles + Heaven had not leisure to renew: + For all the blest fraternity of love + Solemnized there thy birth, and kept thy holiday above. + + O gracious God! how far have we + Profaned thy heavenly gift of Poesy! + Made prostitute and profligate the Muse, + Debased to each obscene and impious use, + Whose harmony was first ordained above, + For tongues of angels and for hymns of love! + Oh wretched we! why were we hurried down + This lubric and adulterate age, + (Nay, added fat pollutions of our own,) + To increase the steaming ordures of the stage? + What can we say to excuse our second fall? + Let this thy Vestal, Heaven, atone for all: + Her Arethusian stream remains unsoiled, + Unmixed with foreign filth and undefiled; + Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child. + + Art she had none, yet wanted none, + For Nature did that want supply: + So rich in treasures of her own, + She might our boasted stores defy: + Such noble vigor did her verse adorn + That it seemed borrowed, where 'twas only born. + Her morals too were in her bosom bred, + By great examples daily fed, + What in the best of books, her father's life, she read. + And to be read herself she need not fear; + Each test and every light her Muse will bear, + Though Epictetus with his lamp were there. + Even love (for love sometimes her Muse exprest) + Was but a lambent flame which played about her breast; + Light as the vapors of a morning dream, + So cold herself, whilst she such warmth exprest, + 'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's stream. + + Born to the spacious empire of the Nine, + One would have thought she should have been content + To manage well that mighty government; + But what can young ambitious souls confine? + To the next realm she stretched her sway, + For Painture near adjoining lay, + A plenteous province and alluring prey. + A Chamber of Dependences was framed, + As conquerors will never want pretense, + (When armed to justify the offense,) + And the whole fief in right of Poetry she claimed. + The country open lay without defense; + For poets frequent inroads there had made, + And perfectly could represent + The shape, the face, with every lineament, + And all the large demains which the dumb Sister swayed; + All bowed beneath her government. + Received in triumph wheresoe'er she went. + Her pencil drew whate'er her soul designed, + And oft the happy draught surpassed the image in her mind; + The sylvan scenes of herds and flocks + And fruitful plains and barren rocks; + Of shallow brooks that flowed so clear, + The bottom did the top appear; + Of deeper too and ampler floods + Which, as in mirrors, showed the woods; + Of lofty trees, with sacred shades + And perspectives of pleasant glades, + Where nymphs of brightest form appear, + And shaggy satyrs standing near, + Which them at once admire and fear. + The ruins too of some majestic piece, + Boasting the power of ancient Rome or Greece, + Whose statues, friezes, columns, broken lie, + And, though defaced, the wonder of the eye; + What nature, art, bold fiction, e'er durst frame, + Her forming hand gave feature to the name. + So strange a concourse ne'er was seen before, + But when the peopled Ark the whole creation bore. + + The scene then changed; with bold erected look + Our martial King the sight with reverence strook: + For, not content to express his outward part, + Her hand called out the image of his heart: + His warlike mind, his soul devoid of fear, + His high-designing thoughts were figured there, + As when by magic ghosts are made appear. + Our phoenix Queen was portrayed too so bright + Beauty alone could beauty take so right: + Her dress, her shape, her matchless grace, + Were all observed, as well as heavenly face. + With such a peerless majesty she stands, + As in that day she took the crown from sacred hands; + Before a train of heroines was seen, + In beauty foremost, as in rank the Queen. + Thus nothing to her genius was denied, + But like a ball of fire, the farther thrown, + Still with a greater blaze she shone, + And her bright soul broke out on every side. + What next she had designed, Heaven only knows: + To such immoderate growth her conquest rose + That Fate alone its progress could oppose. + + Now all those charms, that blooming grace, + The well-proportioned shape and beauteous face, + Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes; + In earth the much-lamented virgin lies. + Not wit nor piety could Fate prevent; + Nor was the cruel Destiny content + To finish all the murder at a blow, + To sweep at once her life and beauty too; + But, like a hardened felon, took a pride + To work more mischievously slow, + And plundered first, and then destroyed. + O double sacrilege on things divine, + To rob the relic, and deface the shrine! + But thus Orinda died: + Heaven by the same disease did both translate; + As equal were their souls, so equal was their fate. + + Meantime, her warlike brother on the seas + His waving streamers to the winds displays, + And vows for his return with vain devotion pays. + Ah, generous youth! that wish forbear, + The winds too soon will waft thee here! + Slack all thy sails, and fear to come; + Alas! thou knowest not, thou art wrecked at home, + No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face; + Thou hast already had her last embrace. + But look aloft, and if thou ken'st from far, + Among the Pleiads, a new-kindled star, + If any sparkles than the rest more bright, + 'Tis she that shines in that propitious light. + + When in mid-air the golden trump shall sound + To raise the nations under ground; + When in the Valley of Jehoshaphat + The judging God shall close the book of Fate, + And there the last assizes keep + For those who wake and those who sleep; + When rattling bones together fly + From the four corners of the sky; + When sinews o'er the skeletons are spread, + Those clothed with flesh, and life inspires the dead; + The sacred poets first shall hear the sound, + And foremost from the tomb shall bound, + For they are covered with the lightest ground; + And straight, with inborn vigor, on the wing, + Like mounting larks, to the new morning sing. + There thou, sweet saint, before the quire shalt go, + As harbinger of Heaven, the way to show, + The way which thou so well hast learned below. + + + +A SONG + + + Fair, sweet, and young, receive a prize + Reserved for your victorious eyes: + From crowds whom at your feet you see, + Oh pity and distinguish me! + As I from thousand beauties more + Distinguish you, and only you adore. + + Your face for conquest was designed, + Your every motion charms my mind; + Angels, when you your silence break, + Forget their hymns to hear you speak; + But when at once they hear and view, + Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you. + + No graces can your form improve, + But all are lost, unless you love; + While that sweet passion you disdain, + Your veil and beauty are in vain: + In pity then prevent my fate, + For after dying all reprieve's too late. + + + +LINES PRINTED UNDER MILTON'S PORTRAIT + +IN TONSON'S FOLIO EDITION OF THE 'PARADISE LOST,' 1688 + + + Three poets, in three distant ages born, + Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. + The first in loftiness of thought surpassed, + The next in majesty, in both the last: + The force of Nature could no farther go; + To make a third she joined the former two. + + + +ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC + +A SONG IN HONOR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY: 1697 + + +I + + 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won + By Philip's warlike son: + Aloft in awful state + The godlike hero sate + On his imperial throne; + His valiant peers were placed around; + Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound: + (So should desert in arms be crowned.) + The lovely Thais, by his side, + Sate like a blooming Eastern bride, + In flower of youth and beauty's pride, + Happy, happy, happy pair! + None but the brave, + None but the brave, + None but the brave deserves the fair. + +CHORUS + + Happy, happy, happy pair! + None but the brave, + None but the brave, + None but the brave deserves the fair. + +II + + Timotheus, placed on high + Amid the tuneful quire, + With flying fingers touched the lyre: + The trembling notes ascend the sky, + And heavenly joys inspire. + The song began from Jove, + Who left his blissful seats above, + (Such is the power of mighty love.) + A dragon's fiery form belied the god: + Sublime on radiant spires he rode, + When he to fair Olympia pressed: + And while he sought her snowy breast, + Then round her slender waist he curled, + And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. + The listening crowd admire the lofty sound + A present deity, they shout around; + A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound: + With ravished ears + The monarch hears, + Assumes the god, + Affects to nod, + And seems to shake the spheres. + +CHORUS + + With ravished ears + The monarch hears, + Assumes the god, + Affects to nod, + And seems to shake the spheres. + +III + + The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, + Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young. + The jolly god in triumph comes; + Sound the trumpets, beat the drums; + Flushed with a purple grace + He shows his honest face: + Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes. + Bacchus, ever fair and young, + Drinking joys did first ordain; + Bacchus's blessings are a treasure, + Drinking is the soldier's pleasure; + Rich the treasure, + Sweet the pleasure, + Sweet is pleasure after pain. + +CHORUS + + Bacchus's blessings are a treasure, + Drinking is the soldier's pleasure; + Rich the treasure, + Sweet the pleasure, + Sweet is pleasure after pain. + +IV + + Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain; + Fought all his battles o'er again; + And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. + The master saw the madness rise, + His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; + And while he heaven and earth defied, + Changed his hand, and checked his pride. + He chose a mournful Muse, + Soft pity to infuse; + He sung Darius great and good, + By too severe a fate, + Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, + Fallen from his high estate, + And weltering in his blood; + Deserted at his utmost need + By those his former bounty fed; + On the bare earth exposed he lies, + With not a friend to close his eyes. + With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, + Revolving in his altered soul + The various turns of chance below; + And now and then a sigh he stole, + And tears began to flow. + +CHORUS + + Revolving in his altered soul + The various turns of chance below; + And now and then a sigh he stole, + And tears began to flow. + +V + + The mighty master smiled to see + That love was in the next degree; + 'Twas but a kindred sound to move, + For pity melts the mind to love. + Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, + Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. + War, he sung, is toil and trouble; + Honor but an empty bubble, + Never ending, still beginning, + Fighting still, and still destroying: + If the world be worth thy winning, + Think, oh think it worth enjoying: + Lovely Thais sits beside thee; + Take the good the gods provide thee; + The many rend the skies with loud applause; + So Love was crowned, but Music won the cause. + The prince, unable to conceal his pain, + Gazed on the fair + Who caused his care, + And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, + Sighed and looked, and sighed again; + At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, + The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. + +CHORUS + + The prince, unable to conceal his pain, + Gazed on the fair + Who caused his care, + And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, + Sighed and looked, and sighed again; + At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, + The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. + +VI + + Now strike the golden lyre again; + A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. + Break his bands of sleep asunder, + And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. + Hark, hark, the horrid sound + Has raised up his head; + As awaked from the dead, + And amazed, he stares around. + Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, + See the Furies arise; + See the snakes that they rear, + How they hiss in their hair, + And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! + Behold a ghastly band, + Each a torch in his hand! + Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, + And unburied remain + Inglorious on the plain: + Give the vengeance due + To the valiant crew. + Behold how they toss their torches on high, + How they point to the Persian abodes, + And glittering temples of their hostile gods! + The princes applaud with a furious joy; + And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; + Thais led the way, + To light him to his prey, + And like another Helen, fired another Troy. + +CHORUS + + And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; + Thais led the way, + To light him to his prey, + And like another Helen, fired another Troy. + +VII + + Thus long ago, + Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, + While organs yet were mute, + Timotheus, to his breathing flute + And sounding lyre, + Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. + At last divine Cecilia came, + Inventress of the vocal frame; + The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, + Enlarged the former narrow bounds, + And added length to solemn sounds, + With Nature's mother wit, and arts unknown before. + Let old Timotheus yield the prize, + Or both divide the crown: + He raised a mortal to the skies; + She drew an angel down. + +GRAND CHORUS + + At last divine Cecilia came, + Inventress of the vocal frame; + The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, + Enlarged the former narrow bounds, + And added length to solemn sounds, + With Nature's mother wit, and arts unknown before. + Let old Timotheus yield the prize, + Or both divide the crown: + He raised a mortal to the skies; + She drew an angel down. + + + +ACHITOPHEL[A] + +From 'Absalom and Achitophel' + + + This plot, which failed for want of common-sense, + Had yet a deep and dangerous consequence: + For as when raging fevers boil the blood, + The standing lake soon floats into a flood, + And every hostile humor, which before + Slept quiet in its channels, bubbles o'er; + So several factions from this first ferment + Work up to foam, and threat the government. + Some by their friends, more by themselves thought wise, + Opposed the power to which they could not rise. + Some had in courts been great, and thrown from thence, + Like fiends were hardened in impenitence. + Some, by their monarch's fatal mercy, grown + From pardoned rebels kinsmen to the throne, + Were raised in power and public office high; + Strong bands, if bands ungrateful men could tie. + + Of these the false Achitophel was first; + A name to all succeeding ages curst: + For close designs and crooked councils fit; + Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit; + Restless, unfixed in principles and place; + In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace: + A fiery soul, which, working out its way, + Fretted the pigmy body to decay, + And o'er-informed the tenement of clay. + A daring pilot in extremity; + Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high + He sought the storms; but for a calm unfit, + Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit. + Great wits are sure to madness near allied, + And thin partitions do their bounds divide; + Else why should he, with wealth and honor blest, + Refuse his age the needful hours of rest? + Punish a body which he could not please; + Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease? + And all to leave what with his toil he won, + To that unfeathered two-legged thing, a son; + Got while his soul did huddled notions try, + And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy. + In friendship false, implacable in hate; + Resolved to ruin or to rule the State. + To compass this the triple bond he broke, + The pillars of the public safety shook, + And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke: + Then, seized with fear yet still affecting fame, + Usurped a patriot's all-atoning name. + So easy still it proves in factious times, + With public zeal to cancel private crimes. + How safe is treason, and how sacred ill, + Where none can sin against the people's will! + Where crowds can wink, and no offense be known, + Since in another's guilt they find their own! + Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge; + The statesman we abhor, but praise the judge. + In Israel's courts ne'er sat an Abethdin + With more discerning eyes, or hands more clean, + Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress; + Swift of dispatch, and easy of access. + Oh! had he been content to serve the Crown, + With virtues only proper to the gown; + Or had the rankness of the soil been freed + From cockle that oppressed the noble seed; + David for him his tuneful harp had strung, + And heaven had wanted one immortal song. + But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand, + And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land. + Achitophel, grown weary to possess + A lawful fame, and lazy happiness, + Disdained the golden fruit to gather free, + And lent the crowd his arm to shake the tree. + Now, manifest of crimes contrived long since, + He stood at bold defiance with his prince; + Held up the buckler of the people's cause + Against the Crown, and skulked behind the laws. + The wished occasion of the plot he takes; + Some circumstances finds, but more he makes. + By buzzing emissaries fills the ears + Of listening crowds with jealousies and fears + Of arbitrary counsels brought to light, + And proves the king himself a Jebusite. + + [A] Lord Shaftesbury. + + + + +MAXIME DU CAMP + +(1822-1894) + +[Illustration: MAXIME DU CAMP] + + +"Why have I always felt happy, filled with the spirit of content and +of infinite independence, whenever I have slept in the tent or in the +ruins of foreign lands?" The love of change and adventure has been the +spring of Du Camp's life, a life whose events are blended so +intimately with his literary achievement, that to know the one is to +know the other. This practical man of the world has an imaginative, +beauty-loving side to his nature, which craves stimulus from tropical +unfamiliar nature and exotic ways. + +So, after the usual training of French boys in lycée and college,--"in +those hideous houses where they wearied our childhood," as he +says,--the just-emancipated youth of twenty-two left his home in Paris +for an eighteen-months' trip in the far East. The color and variety of +the experience whetted his love of travel, and very soon after his +return he began a serious study of photography in view of future +plans. + +Then came the revolution of 1848, the overthrow of Louis Philippe; and +Du Camp had an opportunity to prove his courage and patriotism in the +ranks of the National Guard. In his 'Souvenirs de l'Année 1848,' he +tells the story with color and interest, and with the forceful logic +of an eye-witness. + +His bravery and a serious wound won him the red ribbon of the Legion +of Honor, bestowed by General Cavaignac. This drew attention to him, +and led the minister of public instruction to intrust him a few months +later with a mission of exploration to Egypt, Nubia, Palestine, and +Asia Minor; a result of which trip was his first literary success. +Utilizing his photographic knowledge, he collected a great many +negatives for future development. Upon his return he published a +volume of descriptive sketches, 'Le Nil, Egypte, et Nubie,' generously +illustrated with printed reproductions of these pictures. This first +combination of photography and typography was popular, and was +speedily imitated, initiative of many illustrated books. + +Later, Du Camp's warlike and exploring instincts led him at his own +expense into Sicily with Garibaldi, where he collected matter and +photographs for 'Les Deux Siciles', another successful volume. In 1851 +he associated with others to found the Revue de Paris, for which he +wrote regularly until its suspension in 1858. He has also written a +great deal for the Revue des Deux Mondes, in which for several years +he continued a series of historical studies upon the government of +Paris. The six volumes upon 'Paris: its Organs, its Functions, its +Life, during the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century,' form one of +his chief achievements. His personal knowledge on the subject, and his +access to valuable unpublished documents, give it authoritative value. + +In 'Les Ancêtres de la Commune,' and 'Les Convulsions de Paris,' he +has accomplished much more in the same line. The latter, a brilliant +circumstantial exposition of the Commune, a logical condemnation of +its folly and ignorance, brought him gratitude from the French +Academy, and aided his election to that body in 1880. For this +extensive work on contemporary politics, for his illustrated travels, +and his artistic and literary criticism, he is better known than for +his two or three novels and volumes of poetry. + +Du Camp's may be characterized as a soldierly style, strong, direct, +and personal. He loves to retrace old scenes with the later visible +sequence of cause and effect. Always straightforward, sometimes +bluntly self-assertive, he is sometimes eloquent. Perhaps his great +charm is spontaneity. + + + +A STREET SCENE DURING THE COMMUNE + +From 'The Convulsions of Paris' + + +There were strange episodes during this terrible evening. At half-past +eight, M. Rouville, a Protestant minister, was at home in a house he +owns on the Rue de Lille. He heard an alarm, the cry, "Everything is +burning! Escape!" Then he went down, saw the street in flames, and the +poor people weeping as they escaped. Just as he was returning to +rescue a few valuables, some federates rushed into the court, crying, +"Hurry! They are setting the place on fire!" He took some money and +the manuscript of the sermons he had preached. Mechanically he seized +his hat and cane. Then, throwing a last look around the apartment +where he had long lived, invoking the memory of the great Biblical +destructions familiar to him in Holy Writ, weak and trembling with +emotion, he descended the staircase from his home. + +There was indescribable tumult in the street, dominated by the cry of +women; a shrill wordless involuntary cry of terror, vibrating above +the uproar like a desperate appeal to which no supernatural power +replied. Pastor Rouville stopped. The house next his own was in +flames. They were setting fire to the one opposite. The houses between +the Rue de Beaune and the Rue du Bac, red from cellar to garret, were +vomiting flame from all the broken windows. + +The pastor's family were not at Paris. He was alone with a faithful +maid, who did not leave him for a moment. This doubtless determined +his resolution, and gave him courage to brave all to save his house. +If he had felt his wife and daughter near, he would have thought only +of their safety, and would have hastened to get them away from the +place, where, he said, "One could die of horror." + +Pastor Rouville is a small man, whose great activity keeps him young +and remarkably energetic. He belongs to the strong race of Southern +Protestants, which has resisted everything to guard its faith. I +should not be surprised if he has had some nimble Cévennole, companion +of Jean Cavalier, among his ancestors. Chaplain in the prisons of the +Seine, accustomed to sound doubtful spirits, to seek in vicious hearts +some intact fibres which could re-attach them to virtue; fervent in +faith, eloquent, with a high voice which could rise above the tumult, +knowing by experience that there is no obscurity so profound that +light cannot be made to penetrate it,--he had remained on duty at his +post during the Commune; for the prisoners had more need of spiritual +aid, now that the regular administration no longer watched over them. +He had been indignant at the incarceration of Catholic priests, and +had signed the fine protest demanding the liberty of the archbishop, +which the ministers had carried to the Hôtel de Ville. + +Alone in the presence of the great disaster which threatened him, he +commended his spirit to God, remembering that the little stone of +David had killed the giant Philistine, and he decided to fight for his +home. He encamped energetically before the door, to forbid access; and +using the weapons bestowed upon him by Providence and study, he spoke. +The federates stopped before this man, whose simplicity rendered him +heroic. One may guess what he said to them:-- + +"Why strike the innocent and tender, as if they were execrable? Why be +enraged with a Protestant, a minister, whose religion, founded on the +dogma of free examination, is naturally allied to republican ideas? +The faith he teaches is that promulgated by Christ: Christ said to +Peter, 'Sheathe thy sword;' he said to men,'Love one another!' No, the +people of Paris, this people whose sufferings have been shared, whose +unfortunates have been succored during the siege; this people, so good +when not led astray by the wicked; this people will not burn the house +of a poor minister, whose whole life has been passed in the exercise +of charity." + +The pastor must have been eloquent and have spoken with profound +conviction, for the federates who were listening to him began to weep, +then seized and embraced him. Meantime the tenants of the shops in his +house had lowered the iron curtains, which at least was an obstacle +against the first throwing of petroleum. This lasted an hour. The +federates, evidently softened and touched by the pastor's despair, +remained near him and had pity upon him. An old sergeant of the +National Guard stayed beside him, as if to bring him help in case of +need, and to maintain a little order among his subordinates. Some hope +revived in M. Rouville's heart, and he was saying to himself that +perhaps his house would be spared, when some young men, wearing the +braided caps of officers, arrived as if to inspect the fires. Seeing +one house intact, emerging like a little island from an ocean of +flames, they exclaimed. The pastor sprang forward and wanted to argue +with them. It was trouble wasted. One of these young scamps said to +him, "You are an old reactionist: you bore us with your talking. If +you don't like it, we will pin you to the wall." Then, turning toward +the federates and pointing to the houses on the Rue de Lille, he +cried, "All that belongs to the people. The people have the right to +burn every thing." + +This had perhaps decided the fate of the pastor's house, when the +sergeant of federates interfered, and addressing the officer said to +him, "I have received orders to stop the fire just here." "Show me +your order," answered the officer. The sergeant replied, "It is a +verbal order." Then there was a lively quarrel between the two men. +The sergeant was firm. The officer insisted, and according to the +custom of the moment, threatened to have the rebel shot. + +The situation was becoming grave, when an incident resolved it. A +mounted officer galloped up and ordered all the federates to retreat, +because they were about to be surrounded by the troops from +Versailles. + +Nearly all the National Guards hurried away. The sergeant who had +remained near the pastor said, "Get away, scurry, father! You will get +yourself killed, and that will not save your camp." + +The other officers passed, commanded everything to be burned, and when +the sergeant resisted, compelled him to leave. For half an hour the +unhappy pastor remained alone, holding back the incendiaries, passing +from supplications to threats, and gaining time by every possible +artifice. The sergeant returned with tearful eyes, and showed the +dismayed pastor a written order to burn the house, sent by his chiefs. +Not yet discouraged, the pastor roused the compassion of the old +sergeant, and so moved him that the rebel cried, "Ah, well! so much +the worse! I'll disobey. No, I won't let your house be burned. They'll +shoot me. It's all the same. I deserve to be." Then raising his hand +toward the sky, where the stars shone like sparks through the veil of +wind-driven smoke, he cried "O my father, I believe in God! Fear +nothing; I will stay here. They shan't touch your house. I shall know +how to keep off plunderers!" + +O strange deceiving people; ready for all crimes, ready for all good +actions, according to the voice which speaks to thee and the emotion +which carries thee away! This sergeant was indeed thy likeness, and +one need not despair of thee, although thou dishearten those who love +thee best! + +The brandy at the wine merchants'; the ether at the druggists'; the +powder and shot forgotten in stations, or secreted in cellars, burst +with terrible explosions and scattered flaming coals. The pastor +looked at his house, still miraculously intact. He gave it a last +look, and departed sobbing. It was eleven o'clock. For three hours in +the midst of this furnace he had resisted the incendiaries. His +strength was exhausted. The faithful servant, who went back again and +again to rescue one thing more from the burning, dragged him away. In +the Rue des Saints-Pères they plunged into darkness, all the deeper +for the brazier of sparkling lights behind them. They groped their way +over the barricades through a shower of bullets. More than once they +fell down. Finally, safe and sound despite the dangers braved, they +reached the Rue de Seine, near the Rue de Bucy, where they found +refuge in a lodging-house. + +Next day Pastor Rouville ran towards the Rue de Lille. His house was +standing intact. The old sergeant had kept his word. What became of +this brave man, who at the risk of his life saved the property of a +man whose speech had touched him? Perhaps he perished. Perhaps he +received his due reward. Perhaps he drags out a wretched life in some +workshop of a penitentiary. I know not his fate, nor even his name. + + + + +ALEXANDRE DUMAS, SENIOR + +(1803?-1870) + +BY ANDREW LANG + + +No author is less capable of being illustrated by extracts than +Alexandre Dumas. Writers like Prosper Mérimée or Mr. Robert Louis +Stevenson can be not inadequately represented by a short story or a +brief scene. Even from Scott's work we can detach 'Wandering Willie's +Tale,' or 'The Tapestried Chamber,' or the study of Effie Deans in +prison, or of Jeanie Deans before the Queen. But Dumas is invariably +diffuse; though, unlike other diffuse talkers and writers, he is +seldom tedious. He is long without _longueurs_. A single example will +explain this better than a page of disquisition. The present selector +had meant to extract Dumas's first meeting with Charles Nodier at the +theatre. In memory, that amusing scene appeared to occupy some six +pages. In fact, it covers nearly a hundred and thirty pages of the +Brussels edition of the 'Memoirs' of Dumas. One reads it with such +pleasure that looked back upon, it seems short, while it is infinitely +too long to be extracted. In dialogue Dumas is both excellent and +copious, so that he cannot well be abbreviated. He is the Porthos of +novelists, gigantic, yet (at his best) muscular and not overgrown. For +these reasons, extracts out of his romances do no justice to Dumas. To +read one of his novels, say 'The Three Musketeers,' even in a slovenly +translation, is to know more of him than a world of critics and +essayists can teach. It is also to forget the world, and to dwell in a +careless Paradise. Our object therefore is not to give an "essence of +Dumas," but to make readers peruse him in his own books, and to save +them trouble by indicating, among these books, the best. + +It is notorious that Dumas was at the head of a "Company" like that +which Scott laughingly proposed to form "for writing and publishing +the class of books called Waverley Novels." In legal phrase, Dumas +"deviled" his work; he had assistants, "researchers," collaborators. +He would briefly sketch a plot, indicate the authorities to be +consulted, hand his notes to Maquet or Fiorentino, receive their +draught, and expand that into a romance. Work thus executed cannot be +equal to itself. Many books signed by Dumas may be neglected without +loss. Even to his best works, one or other of his assistants was apt +to assert a claim. The answer is convincing. Not one of these +ingenious men ever produced, by himself, anything that could be +mistaken for the work of the master. All his good things have the same +stamp and the same spirit, which we find nowhere else. Again, nobody +contests his authorship of his own 'Memoirs,' or of his book about his +dogs, birds, and other beasts--'The Story of My Pets.' Now, the merit +of these productions is, in kind, identical with many of the merits of +his best novels. There is the same good-humor, gayety, and fullness of +life. We may therefore read Dumas's central romances without much fear +of being grateful to the wrong person. Against the modern theory that +the Iliad and Odyssey are the work of many hands in many ages, we can +urge that these supposed "hands" never did anything nearly so good for +themselves; and the same argument applies in the case of Alexandre +Dumas. + +A brief sketch of his life must now be given. "No man has had so many +of his possessions disputed as myself," says Dumas. Not only his right +to his novels, but his right to his name and to legitimate birth, was +contested. Here we shall follow his own account of himself in his +'Memoirs,' which do not cover nearly the whole of his life. Alexandre +Dumas was born at Villers-Cotterets-sur-Aisne, on July 24th, 1803(?). +He lived to almost exactly the threescore and ten years of the +Psalmist. He saw the fall of Napoleon, the restoration of the rightful +king, the expulsion of the Legitimate monarch in 1830, the Orleans +rule, its overthrow in 1848, the Republic, the Empire, and the +Terrible Year, 1870-1871. Then he died, in the hour of the sorrow +of his + + "Immortal and indomitable France." + +[Illustration: ALEXANDRE DUMAS.] + +Dumas's full name was noble: he was Alexandre Dumas-Davy de la +Pailleterie. His family estate, La Pailleterie, was made a marquisate +by Louis XIV. in 1707. About 1760 the grandfather of Dumas sold his +lands in France, and went to Hayti. There in 1762 was born his father, +son of Louise Cossette Dumas and of the Marquis de la Pailleterie. The +mother must have been a woman of color; Dumas talks of his father's +"mulatto hue," and he himself had undoubted traces of African blood. +Yet it appears that the grandparents were duly married. In 1772, his +wife having died, the old marquis returned to France. The Revolution +broke out, and the father of Alexandre Dumas fought in the armies of +the Republic. The cruel mob called him by way of mockery, "Monsieur +Humanity," because he endeavored to rescue the victims of their +ferocity. He was a man of great courage and enormous physical +strength. Napoleon, in honor of one of his feats of arms, called him +in a dispatch "The Horatius Cocles of the Republic." He was with +Napoleon in Egypt, where a quarrel arose, as he suspected and opposed +the ambition of the future emperor. Though Dumas found a treasure in a +bey's house, he honorably presented it to his government. He died in +France, a poor man, in 1806. + +Dumas was not at home when his father died. He was staying, a +child of four, with his cousin Marianne. + + "At midnight I was awakened, or rather my cousin and I were + awakened, by a great blow struck on the door of our room. By + the light of a night lamp I saw my cousin start up, much + alarmed. No mortal could have knocked at our chamber door, + for the outer doors were locked. [He gives a plan of the + house.] I got out of bed to open the door. 'Where are you + going, Alexandre?' cried my cousin. + + "'To let in papa, who is coming to say adieu.' + + "The girl dragged me back to bed; I cried, 'Adieu, papa, + adieu!' Something like a sighing breath passed over my + face.... My father had died at the hour when we heard the + knock!" + +This anecdote may remind the reader of what occurred at Abbotsford on +the night when Mr. Bullock died in London. Dumas tells another tale of +the same kind ('Memoirs,' Vol. xi., page 255: Brussels, 1852). On the +night of his mother's death he in vain sought a similar experience. +These things "come not by observation"; but Dumas, like Scott, had a +mind not untuned to such themes, though not superstitious. + +Young Dumas, like most men of literary genius, taught himself to read. +A Buffon with plates was the treasure of the child, already a lover of +animals. To know more about the beasts he learned to read for his own +pleasure. Of mythology he was as fond as Keats. His intellectual life +began (like the imaginative life of our race) in legends of beasts and +gods. For Dumas was born _un primitif_, as the French say; his taste +was the old immortal human taste for romance, for tales of adventure, +love, and war. This predilection is now of course often scouted by +critics who are over-civilized and under-educated. Superior persons +will never share the love of Dumas which was common to Thackeray and +Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson. From Buffon he went on to the 'Letters to +Émil' (letters on mythology), and to the 'Arabian Nights.' An +imaginative child, he knew the "pains of sleep" as Coleridge did, and +the terrors of vain imagination. Many children whose manhood is not +marked by genius are visionaries. A visionary too was little Dumas, +like Scott, Coleridge, and George Sand in childhood. To the material +world he ever showed a bold face. "I have never known doubt or +despair," he says; his faith in God was always unshaken; the doctrine +of immortality he regarded rather with hope than absolute belief. Yet +surely it is a corollary to the main article of his creed. + +At ten, Dumas went to a private school kept by an Abbé Grégoire. At +the Restoration, a boy of twelve, he made and he adhered to an +important resolution. He chose to keep his grandmaternal name of +Dumas, like his father, and to drop the name and arms of De la +Pailleterie, with all the hopes of boons from the restored Royalists. +Dumas remained a man of the popular party, though he had certain +relations of friendship with the house of Orléans. But he entertained +no posthumous hatred of the old monarchy and the old times. His kings +are nearly as good, in his romances, as Sir Walter's own, and his +Henri III. and Henri IV. may be named with Scott's Gentle King Jamie +and Louis XI. + +Madame Dumas, marquise as she was by marriage, kept a tobacconist's +shop; and in education, Dumas was mainly noted for his calligraphy. +Poaching was now the boy's favorite amusement; all through his life he +was very fond of sport. Napoleon returned from Elba; Dumas saw him +drive through Villers-Cotterets on his way to Waterloo. Soon +afterwards came in stragglers; the English, they said, had been +defeated at five o'clock on June 18th, but the Prussians arrived at +six o'clock and won the battle. What the English were doing between +five and six does not appear; it hardly seems that they quitted the +field. The theory of that British defeat at Waterloo was never +abandoned by Dumas. He saw Napoleon return through Villers-Cotterets. +"Wellington, Bülow, Blücher, were but masks of men; really they were +spirits sent by the Most High to defeat Napoleon." It is a pious +opinion! + +At the age of fifteen Dumas, like Scott, became a notary's clerk. +About this time he saw 'Hamlet' played, in the version of Ducis. +Corneille and Racine had always been disliked by this born +romanticist. 'Hamlet' carried him off his feet. Soon afterwards he +read Bürger's 'Lenore,' the ballad which Scott translated at the +very beginning of his career as an author. + + "Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, + Splash! splash! along the sea; + The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, + The flashing pebbles flee." + +This German ballad, says Scott, "struck him as the kind of thing he +could do himself." And Dumas found that the refrain + + "Hurrah, fantôme, les morts vont vite," + +was more to his taste than the French poetry of the eighteenth +century. He tried to translate 'Lenore.' Scott finished it in a night; +Dumas gave up in despair. But this, he says, was the beginning of his +authorship. He had not yet opened a volume of Scott or Cooper, "ces +deux grands romanciers." With a friend named Leuven he began to try +to write plays (1820-1821). He now poached his way to Paris, defraying +his expenses with the game he shot on the road. Shakespeare too was a +poacher; let us excuse the eccentricities of genius. He made Talma's +acquaintance; he went to the play; he resigned his clerkship: "Paris +was my future." Thither he went; his father's name served him with +General Foy, and he obtained a little post in the household of the Duc +D'Orléans--a supernumerary secretaryship at £60 a year. At the play he +met Charles Nodier, reading the rarest of Elzevirs, and at intervals +(like Charles Lamb) hissing his own piece! This delightful scene, with +its consequences, occupies one hundred and thirty pages! + +Dumas now made the acquaintance of Frederic Soulié, and became a +pillar of theatres. He began to read with a purpose: first he read +Scott; "The clouds lifted, and I beheld new horizons." Then he turned +to Cooper; then to Byron. One day he entered his office, crying aloud, +"Byron is dead!" "Who is Byron?" said one of his chiefs. Here Dumas +breaks off in his 'Memoirs' to give a life of Byron! He fought his +first duel in the snow, and won an easy, almost a bloodless victory. +For years he and Leuven wrote plays together,--plays which were never +accepted. + +At last he, Rousseau (not Jean Jacques!), and Leuven composed a piece +together. Refused at one house, it was accepted at another: 'La Chasse +et l'Amour' (The Chase and Love) was presented on September 22d, 1823. +It succeeded. A volume of three short stories sold to the extent of +four copies. Dumas saw that he must "make a name" before he could make +a livelihood. "I do not believe in neglected talent and unappreciated +genius," says he. Like Mr. Arthur Pendennis, he wrote verses "up to" +pictures. Thackeray did the same. "Lady Blessington once sent him an +album print of a boy and girl fishing, with a request that he would +make some verses for it. 'And,' he said, 'I liked the idea, and set +about it at once. I was two entire days at it,--was so occupied with +it, so engrossed by it, that I did not shave during the whole time.'" +So says Mr. Locker-Lampson. + +We cannot all be Dumas or Thackeray. But if any literary beginner +reads these lines, let him take Dumas's advice; let him disbelieve in +neglected genius, and do the work that comes in his way, as best he +can. Dumas had a little anonymous success in 1826, a vaudeville at the +Porte-Saint-Martin. At last he achieved a serious tragedy, or +melodrama, in verse, 'Christine.' He wrote to Nodier, reminding him of +their meeting at the play. The author of 'Trilby' introduced him to +Taylor; Taylor took him to the Théâtre Français; 'Christine' was read +and accepted unanimously. + +Dumas now struck the vein of his fortune. By chance he opened a volume +of Anquetil, and read an anecdote of the court of Henri III. This led +him to study the history of Saint Megrin, in the Memoirs of L'Estoile, +where he met Quelus, and Maugiron, and Bussy d'Amboise, with the +stirring tale of his last fight against twelve men. Out of these facts +he made his play 'Henri III.,' and the same studies inspired that +trilogy of romances 'La Reine Margot' (Queen Margot), 'La Dame de +Monsoreau' (The Lady of Monsoreau), and 'Les Quarante-Cinq' (The +Forty-Five). These are, with the trilogy of the 'Mousquetaires,' his +central works as a romancer, and he was twenty-five when he began to +deal with the romance of history. His habit was to narrate his play or +novel, to his friends, to invent as he talked, and so to arrive at his +general plan. The mere writing gave him no trouble. We shall later +show his method in the composition of 'The Three Musketeers.' + +'Christine' had been wrecked among the cross-currents of theatrical +life. 'Henri III.' was more fortunate. Dumas was indeed obliged to +choose between his little office and the stage; he abandoned his +secretaryship. In 1829 occurred this "duel between his past and his +future." Just before the first night of the drama, Dumas's mother, +whom he tenderly loved, was stricken down by paralysis. He tended her, +he watched over his piece, he almost dragged the Duc d'Orléans to the +theatre. On that night he made the acquaintance of Hugo and Alfred de +Vigny. Dumas passed the evening between the theatre and his mother's +bedside. When the curtain fell, he was "called on"; the audience stood +up uncovered, the Duc d'Orléans and all! + +Next morning Dumas, like Byron, "woke to find himself famous." He had +"made his name" in the only legitimate way,--by his work. Troubles +followed, difficulties with the Censorship, duels and rumors of duels, +and the whole romantic upheaval which accompanied the Revolution of +1830. Dumas was attached again to the Orléans household. He dabbled in +animal magnetism, which had been called mesmerism, and now is known as +hypnotism. The phenomena are the same; only the explanations vary. +About 1830 there was a mania for animal magnetism in Paris; Lady +Louisa Stuart recounted some of the marvels to Sir Walter Scott, who +treated the reports with disdain. When writing his romance 'Joseph +Balsamo' (a tale of the French Revolution), Dumas made studies of +animal magnetism, and was, or believed himself to be, an adept. The +orthodox party of modern hypnotists merely hold that by certain +physical means, a state of somnambulism can be produced in certain +people. Once in that state, the patients are subject, to "suggestion," +and are obedient to the will of the hypnotizer. He for his part exerts +no "magnetic current," no novel unexplained force or fluid. Some +recent French and English experiments are not easily to be reconciled +with this hypothesis. Dumas himself believed that he exerted a +magnetic force, and without any "passes" or other mechanical means, +could hypnotize persons who did not know what he was about, and so +were not influenced by "suggestion." In a few cases he held that his +patients became clairvoyant; one of them made many political +prophecies,--all unfulfilled. Another, in trance, improved vastly as a +singer; "her normal voice stopped at _contre-si_. I bade her rise to +_contre-re_, which she did; though incapable of it when awake." So +far, this justifies the plot of Mr. Du Maurier's novel 'Trilby.' Dumas +offers no theory; he states facts, as he says, including +"post-hypnotic suggestion." + +These experiments were made by Dumas merely as part of his studies for +'Joseph Balsamo' (Cagliostro); his conclusion was that hypnotism is +not yet reduced to a scientific formula. In fiction it is already +overworked. Dumas got his 'Christine' acted at last. Then broke out +the Revolution of 1830. Dumas's description of his activity is "as +good as a novel," but too long and varied for condensation. It seems +better to give this extract about his life of poverty before his +mother died, before fame visited him. (I quote Miss Cheape's +translation of the passage included in her 'Stories of Beasts,' +published by Longmans, Green and Company.) + + He had, in later years, named a cat Mysouff II. + + "If you won't think me impertinent, sir," said Madame + Lamarque, "I should so like to know what Mysouff means." + + "Mysouff just means Mysouff, Madame Lamarque." + + "It is a cat's name, then?" + + "Certainly, since Mysouff the First was so-called. It is + true, Madame Lamarque, you never knew Mysouff." And I became + so thoughtful that Madame Lamarque was kind enough to + withdraw quietly, without asking any questions about Mysouff + the First. + + That name had taken me back to fifteen years ago, when my + mother was still living. I had then the great happiness of + having a mother to scold me sometimes. At the time I speak + of, I held a situation in the service of the Duc d'Orléans, + with a salary of 1500 francs. My work occupied me from ten in + the morning until five in the afternoon. We had a cat in + those days, whose name was Mysouff. This cat had missed his + vocation; he ought to have been a dog. Every morning I + started for my office at half-past nine, and came back every + evening at half-past five. Every morning Mysouff followed me + to the corner of a particular street, and every evening I + found him in the same street, at the same corner, waiting for + me. Now the curious thing was that on the days when I had + found some amusement elsewhere, and was not coming home to + dinner, it was of no use to open the door for Mysouff to go + and meet me. Mysouff, in the attitude of the serpent with its + tail in its mouth, refused to stir from his cushion. On the + other hand, on the days I did come, Mysouff would scratch at + the door until some one opened it for him. My mother was very + fond of Mysouff; she used to call him her barometer. + + "Mysouff marks my good and my bad weather," my dear mother + would say: "the days you come in are my days of sunshine; my + rainy days are when you stay away." + + When I came home I used to see Mysouff at the street corner, + sitting quite still and gazing into the distance. As soon as + he caught sight of me, he began to move his tail; then as I + drew nearer, he rose and walked backward and forward across + the pavement with his back arched and his tail in the air. + When I reached him, he jumped up upon me as a dog would have + done, and bounded and played round me as I walked towards the + house; but when I was close to it he dashed in at full speed. + Two seconds after, I used to see my mother at the door. + + Never again in this world, but perhaps in the next, I shall + see her standing waiting for me at the door. + + That is what I was thinking of, dear readers, when the name + of Mysouff brought back all these recollections; so you + understand why I did not answer Madame Lamarque's question. + +The life of Dumas after 1830 need not be followed step by step; +indeed, for lack of memoirs, to follow it is by no means easy. + +Dumas, by dint of successful plays, and later of successful novels, +earned large sums of money--£40,000 in one year, it is said. He +traveled far and wide, and compiled books of travel. In the forties, +before the Revolution of 1848, he built a kind of Abbotsford of his +own, named "Monte Cristo," near St. Germains, and joyously ruined +himself. "Monte Cristo," like Abbotsford, has been described as a +palace. Now, Abbotsford is so far from being a palace that Mr. Hope +Scott, when his wife, Scott's granddaughter, inherited the place, was +obliged to build an additional wing. + +At Monte Cristo Dumas kept but one man-servant, Michel (his "Tom +Purdie"), who was groom, keeper, porter, gardener, and everything. Nor +did Dumas ruin himself by paying exorbitant prices for poor lands, as +Scott did. His collection of books and curios was no rival for that of +Abbotsford. But like Scott, he gave away money to right and left, and +he kept open house. He was eaten up by parasites,--beggars, poor +greedy hangers-on of letters, secretaries, above all by tribes of +musical people. On every side money flowed from him; hard as he +worked, largely as he earned, he spent more. His very dog brought in +thirteen other dogs to bed and board. He kept monkeys, cats, eagles, a +vulture, a perfect menagerie. His own account of these guests may be +read in "My Pets"; perhaps the most humorous, good-humored, and +amusing of all his works. + +The Revolution of 1848 impoverished him and drove him from Monte +Cristo; not out of debt to his neighbors. Dumas was a cheerful giver, +but did not love to "fritter away his money in paying bills." He +started newspapers, such as The Musketeer, and rather lost than gained +by a careless editorship. A successful play would enrich him, and he +would throw away his gains. He went with Garibaldi on his expedition +against the King of Naples, and was received with ingratitude by the +Neapolitans. + +A friend of Daniel Dunglas Home, the "medium," he accompanied him to +Russia, where Home married a lady of a noble and wealthy family. +Returned to France, Dumas found his popularity waning. His plays often +failed; he had outlived his success and his generation; he had saved +nothing; he had to turn in need to his son Alexandre, the famous +dramatist. Finally he died, doubting the security of his own fame, in +the year of the sorrows of France. + +Dumas is described by Michelet as "a force of nature." Never was there +in modern literature a force more puissant, more capricious, or more +genial. His quantity of mind was out of all proportion to its quality. +He could learn everything with ease; he was a skilled cook, a fencer; +he knew almost as if by intuition the technique and terminology of all +arts and crafts. Ignorant of Greek, he criticized and appreciated +Homer with an unmatched zest and appreciation. Into the dry bones of +history he breathed life, mere names becoming full-blooded +fellow-creatures under his spell. His inspiration was derived from +Scott, a man far more learned than he, but scarcely better gifted with +creative energy. Like Scott he is long, perhaps prolix; like him he is +indifferent to niceties of style, does not linger over the choice of +words, but serves himself with the first that comes to hand. Scott's +wide science of human nature is not his; but his heroes, often rather +ruffianly, are seldom mere exemplary young men of no particular mark. +More brilliantly and rapidly than Scott, he indicates action in +dialogue. He does not aim at the construction of rounded plots; his +novels are chronicles which need never stop while his heroes are +alive. His plan is to take a canvas of fact, in memoir or history, and +to embroider his fantasies on that. Occasionally the canvas (as Mr. +Saintsbury says) shows through, and we have blocks of actual history. +His 'Joan of Arc' begins as a romance, and ends with a comparatively +plain statement of facts too great for any art but Shakespeare's. But +as a rule it is not historical facts, it is the fictitious adventures +of characters living in an historical atmosphere, that entertain us in +Dumas. + +The minute inquirer may now compare the sixteenth-century 'Memoirs of +Monsieur D'Artagnan' (fictitious memoirs, no doubt) with the use made +of them by Dumas in 'The Three Musketeers' and 'Twenty Years After.' +The 'Memoirs' (reprinted by the Librairie Illustrée, Paris) gave Dumas +his opening scenes; gave him young D'Artagnan, Porthos, Athos, Aramis, +Rosnay, De Treville, Milady, the whole complicated intrigue of Milady, +D'Artagnan, and De Vardes. They gave him several incidents, duels, and +"local color." By making Milady the wife of Athos, Dumas knotted his +plot; he added the journey to England, after the Queen's diamonds; +from a subordinate character he borrowed the clerical character of +Aramis; a mere hint in the 'Memoirs' suggested the Bastion +Saint-Gervais. The discrimination of character, the dialogue, and many +adventures, are Dumas's own; he was aided by Maquet in the actual +writing. In a similar way, Brantôme and L'Estoile, in their 'Memoirs,' +supply the canvas of the tales of the Valois cycle. + +The beginner in Dumas will assuredly find the following his best +works. For the Valois period, 'The Horoscope' (a good deal neglected), +'Queen Margot,' 'The Lady of Monsoreau,' 'The Forty-Five.' 'Isabeau of +Bavière,' an early novel, deals with the anarchy and misery before the +coming of Jeanne d'Arc. For Henri II., 'The Two Dianas' is indicated. +For the times of Richelieu, Mazarin, Louis XIV., we have 'The Three +Musketeers,' 'Twenty Years After,' and 'The Viscount of Bragelonne.' +These deal with the youth, middle age, old age, and death of +D'Artagnan, Porthos, Athos, and Aramis. The Revolutionary novels, +'Joseph Balsamo,' 'The Queen's Necklace,' and others, are much less +excellent. The Regency is not ill done in 'The Regent's Daughter'; and +'The Chevalier of Harmenthal,' with 'Olympe of Cleves,' has many +admirers. Quite apart from these is the immense modern fantasy of 'The +Count of Monte Cristo'; the opening part alone is worthy of the +master. 'The Black Tulip,' so warmly praised by Thackeray, is an +innocent little romance of the days of Dutch William. _Les jeunes +filles_ may read 'The Black Tulip': indeed, Dumas does not sacrifice +at all to "the Goddess of Lubricity," even when he describes very lax +moralities. + +With a knowledge of these books, and of 'My Pets' and the 'Memoirs,' +any student will find himself at home in Dumas, and can make wider +ranges in that great wilderness of fancy. Some autobiographical +details will be found in the novel called 'Ange Pithou.' 'Isaac +Laquedem' was meant to be a romance of the Wandering Jew; only two +volumes are published. Philosophy a reader will not find, nor delicate +analysis, nor "chiseled style"; but he will be in touch with a great +sunny life, rejoicing in all the accidents of existence. + +[Illustration: Signature (A. Lang)] + + + +THE CURE FOR DORMICE THAT EAT PEACHES + +From 'The Count of Monte Cristo' + + +Not on the same night he had intended, but the next morning, the Count +of Monte Cristo went out on the road to Orléans. Leaving the village +of Linas, without stopping at the telegraph, which at the moment the +count passed threw out its long bony arms, he reached the tower of +Montlhéry, situated, as every one knows, upon the highest point of the +plain of that name. At the foot of the hill the count dismounted, and +began to ascend the mountain by a little winding path about eighteen +inches wide; when he reached the summit he found himself stopped by a +hedge, upon which green fruit had succeeded to red and white flowers. + +Monte Cristo looked for the door of the inclosure, and was not long in +finding it. It was a little wooden gate, working on willow hinges, and +fastened with a nail and string. The count soon understood its +mechanism, and the door opened. He then found himself in a little +marvelously well-kept garden, about twenty feet long by twelve wide, +bounded on one side by part of the hedge, in which was formed the +ingenious machine we have named a door; and on the other by the old +tower, covered with ivy and studded with wild flowers. Monte Cristo +stopped, after having closed the door and fastened the string to the +nail, and cast a look around. + +"The man at the telegraph," said he, "must either keep a gardener or +devote himself passionately to horticulture." Suddenly he struck +himself against something crouching behind a wheelbarrow filled with +leaves; the something rose, uttered an exclamation of astonishment, +and Monte Cristo found himself facing a man about fifty years old, who +was plucking strawberries, which he was placing upon vine-leaves. He +had twelve leaves and about as many strawberries, which, on rising +suddenly, he let fall from his hand. "You are gathering your crop, +sir?" said Monte Cristo, smiling. + +"Excuse me, sir," replied the man, raising his hand to his cap; "I am +not up there, I know, but I have only just come down." + +"Do not let me interfere with you in anything, my friend," said the +count; "gather your strawberries, if indeed there are any left." + +"I have ten left," said the man, "for here are eleven, and I had +twenty-one, five more than last year. But I am not surprised; the +spring has been warm this year, and strawberries require heat, sir. +This is the reason that, instead of the sixteen I had last year, I +have this year, you see, eleven already plucked--twelve, thirteen, +fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Ah, I miss three! +they were here last night, sir--I am sure they were here--I counted +them. It must be the son of Mother Simon who has stolen them; I saw +him strolling about here this morning. Ah! the young rascal! stealing +in a garden; he does not know where that may lead him to." + +"Certainly, it is wrong," said Monte Cristo, "but you should take into +consideration the youth and greediness of the delinquent." + +"Of course," said the gardener, "but that does not make it the less +unpleasant. But, sir, once more I beg pardon; perhaps you are an +official that I am detaining here?" And he glanced timidly at the +count's blue coat. + +"Calm yourself, my friend," said the count, with that smile which at +his will became so terrible or benevolent, and which this time beamed +only with the latter expression; "I am not an inspector, but a +traveler, conducted here by curiosity he half repents of, since he +causes you to lose your time." + +"Ah! my time is not valuable," replied the man, with a melancholy +smile. "Still, it belongs to the government, and I ought not to +waste it; but having received the signal that I might rest for an +hour" (here he glanced at a sun-dial, for there was everything in +the inclosure of Montlhéry, even a sun-dial), "and having ten +minutes before me, and my strawberries being ripe, when a day +longer--by-the-by, sir, do you think dormice eat them?" + +"Indeed, I should think not," replied Monte Cristo: "dormice are bad +neighbors for us who do not eat them preserved, as the Romans did." + +"What! did the Romans eat them?" said the gardener; "eat dormice?" + +"I have read so," said the count. + +"Really! They can't be nice, though they do say 'as fat as a +dormouse.' It is not a wonder they are fat, sleeping all day, and only +waking to eat all night. Listen: last year I had four apricots--they +stole one; I had one nectarine, only one--well, sir, they ate half of +it on the wall; a splendid nectarine--I never ate a better." + +"You ate it?" + +"That is to say, the half that was left--you understand; it was +exquisite, sir. Ah, those gentlemen never choose the worst morsels; +like Mother Simon's son, who has not chosen the worst strawberries. +But this year," continued the horticulturist, "I'll take care it shall +not happen, even if I should be forced to sit up the whole night to +watch when the strawberries are ripe." Monte Cristo had seen enough. +Every man has a devouring passion in his heart, as every fruit has its +worm; that of the man at the telegraph was horticulture. He began +gathering the vine-leaves which screened the sun from the grapes, and +won the heart of the gardener. "Did you come here, sir, to see the +telegraph?" he said. + +"Yes, if not contrary to the rules." + +"Oh no," said the gardener; "there are no orders against doing so, +providing there is nothing dangerous, and that no one knows what we +are saying." + +"I have been told," said the count, "that you do not always yourselves +understand the signals you repeat." + +"Certainly, sir; and that is what I like best," said the man, smiling. + +"Why do you like that best?" + +"Because then I have no responsibility. I am a machine then, and +nothing else; and so long as I work, nothing more is required of me." + +"Is it possible," said Monte Cristo to himself, "that I can have met +with a man that has no ambition? That would spoil my plans." + +"Sir," said the gardener, glancing at the sun-dial, "the ten minutes +are nearly expired; I must return to my post. Will you go up with me?" + +"I follow you." Monte Cristo entered the tower, which was divided into +three stages. The lowest contained gardening implements, such as +spades, rakes, watering-pots, hung against the wall; this was all the +furniture. The second was the usual dwelling or rather sleeping-place +of the man; it contained a few poor articles of household furniture, a +bed, a table, two chairs, a stone pitcher, and some dry herbs hung up +to the ceiling, which the count recognized as sweet-peas, and of which +the good man was preserving the seeds, having labeled them with as +much care as if he had been a botanist. + +"Does it require much study to learn the art of telegraphing, sir?" +asked Monte Cristo. + +"The study does not take long; it was acting as a supernumerary that +was so tedious." + +"And what is the pay?" + +"A thousand francs, sir." + +"It is nothing." + +"No; but then we are lodged, as you perceive." + +Monte Cristo looked at the room. They passed on to the third stage; it +was the room of the telegraph. Monte Cristo looked in turns at the two +iron handles by which the machine was worked. "It is very +interesting," he said; "but it must be very tedious for a lifetime." + +"Yes. At first my neck was cramped with looking at it, but at the end +of a year I became used to it; and then we have our hours of +recreation, and our holidays when we have a fog." + +"Ah, to be sure." + +"Those are indeed holidays to me; I go into the garden, I plant, +prune, trim, and kill the insects all day long." + +"How long have you been here?" + +"Ten years, and five as a supernumerary make fifteen." + +"You are--" + +"Fifty-five years old." + +"How long must you serve to claim the pension?" + +"Oh, sir, twenty-five years." + +"And how much is the pension?" + +"A hundred crowns." + +"Poor humanity!" murmured Monte Cristo. + +"What did you say, sir?" asked the man. + +"I was saying it was very interesting." + +"What was?" + +"All you were showing me. And you really understand none of these +signals?" + +"None at all." + +"And have you never tried to understand them?" + +"Never. Why should I?" + +"But still there are some signals only addressed to you." + +"Certainly." + +"And do you understand them?" + +"They are always the same." + +"And they mean--" + +"_Nothing new_; _You have an hour_; or _To-morrow_." + +"This is simple enough," said the count; "but look! is not your +correspondent putting himself in motion?" + +"Ah yes; thank you, sir." + +"And what is it saying--anything you understand?" + +"Yes; it asks if I am ready." + +"And you reply?" + +"By the same sign, which at the same time tells my right-hand +correspondent that I am ready, while it gives notice to my left-hand +correspondent to prepare in his turn." + +"It is very ingenious," said the count. + +"You will see," said the man, proudly; "in five minutes he will +speak." + +"I have then five minutes," said Monte Cristo to himself; "it is more +time than I require. My dear sir, will you allow me to ask you a +question?" + +"What is it, sir?" + +"You are fond of gardening?" + +"Passionately." + +"And you would be pleased to have, instead of this terrace of twenty +feet, an inclosure of two acres?" + +"Sir, I should make a terrestrial paradise of it." + +"You live badly on your thousand francs?" + +"Badly enough; but yet I do live." + +"Yes; but you have only a small garden." + +"True, the garden is not large." + +"And then, such as it is, it is filled with dormice, who eat +everything." + +"Ah! they are my scourges." + +"Tell me, should you have the misfortune to turn your head while your +right-hand correspondent was telegraphing--" + +"I should not see him." + +"Then what would happen?" + +"I could not repeat the signals." + +"And then?" + +"Not having repeated them, through negligence, I should be fined." + +"How much?" + +"A hundred francs." + +"The tenth of your income--that would be fine work." + +"Ah!" said the man. + +"Has it ever happened to you?" said Monte Cristo. + +"Once, sir, when I was grafting a rose-tree." + +"Well, suppose you were to alter a signal, and substitute another?" + +"Ah, that is another case; I should be turned off, and lose my +pension." + +"Three hundred francs." + +"A hundred crowns; yes, sir; so you see that I am not likely to do any +of these things." + +"Not even for fifteen years' wages? Come, it is worth thinking about?" + +"For fifteen thousand francs!" + +"Yes." + +"Sir, you alarm me." + +"Nonsense!" + +"Sir, you are tempting me?" + +"Just so; fifteen thousand francs, do you understand?" + +"Sir, let me see my right-hand correspondent!" + +"On the contrary, do not look at him, but on this." + +"What is it?" + +"What! do you not know these little papers?" + +"Bank-notes!" + +"Exactly; there are fifteen of them." + +"And whose are they?" + +"Yours, if you like." + +"Mine!" exclaimed the man, half suffocated. + +"Yes; yours--your own property." + +"Sir, my right-hand correspondent is signaling." + +"Let him." + +"Sir, you have distracted me; I shall be fined." + +"That will cost you a hundred francs; you see it is your interest to +take my bank-notes." + +"Sir, my right-hand correspondent redoubles his signals; he is +impatient." + +"Never mind--take these;" and the count placed the packet in the hands +of the man. "Now, this is not all," he said; "you cannot live upon +your fifteen thousand francs." + +"I shall still have my place." + +"No! you will lose it, for you are going to alter the sign of your +correspondent." + +"Oh, sir, what are you proposing?" + +"A jest!" + +"Sir, unless you force me--" + +"I think I can effectually force you;" and Monte Cristo drew another +packet from his pocket. "Here are ten thousand more francs," he said; +"with the fifteen thousand already in your pocket, they will make +twenty-five thousand. With five thousand you can buy a pretty little +house with two acres of land; the remaining twenty thousand will bring +you in a thousand francs a year." + +"A garden with two acres of land!" + +"And a thousand francs a year." + +"Oh heavens!" + +"Come, take them!" and Monte Cristo forced the bank-notes into his +hand. + +"What am I to do?" + +"Nothing very difficult." + +"But what is it?" + +"To repeat these signs;" Monte Cristo took a paper from his pocket, +upon which were drawn three signs, with numbers to indicate the order +in which they were to be worked. + +"There, you see it will not take long." + +"Yes; but--" + +"Do this, and you will have nectarines and all the rest." The mark was +hit: red with fever, while the large drops fell from his brow, the man +executed, one after the other, the three signs given by the count; +notwithstanding the frightful contortions of the right-hand +correspondent, who, not understanding the change, began to think the +gardener had become mad. As to the left-hand one, he conscientiously +repeated the same signals, which were definitively carried to the +Minister of the Interior. "Now you are rich," said Monte Cristo. + +"Yes," replied the man, "but at what a price!" + +"Listen, friend," said Monte Cristo. "I do not wish to cause you any +remorse; believe me, then, when I swear to you that you have wronged +no man, but on the contrary have benefited mankind." The man looked at +the bank-notes, felt them, counted them; he turned pale, then red; +then rushed into his room to drink a glass of water, but he had no +time to reach the water-jug, and fainted in the midst of his dried +herbs. Five minutes after the new telegram reached the minister, +Debray had the horses put to his carriage, and drove to Danglars's. + +"Has your husband any Spanish bonds?" he asked of the baroness. + +"I think so, indeed! He has six millions' worth." + +"He must sell them at whatever price." + +"Why?" + +"Because Don Carlos has fled from Bourges, and has returned to Spain." + +"How do you know?"--Debray shrugged his shoulders. "The idea of asking +how I hear the news!" he said. The baroness did not wait for a +repetition; she ran to her husband, who immediately hastened to his +agent and ordered him to sell at any price. When it was seen that +Danglars sold, the Spanish funds fell directly. Danglars lost five +hundred thousand francs; but he rid himself of all his Spanish shares. +The same evening the following was read in Le Messager:-- + + "Telegraphic dispatch. The King, Don Carlos, has escaped the + vigilance exercised over him at Bourges, and has returned to + Spain by the Catalonian frontier. Barcelona has risen in his + favor." + +All that evening nothing was spoken of but the foresight of Danglars, +who had sold his shares, and of the luck of the stock-jobber, who only +lost five hundred thousand francs by such a blow. Those who had kept +their shares, or bought those of Danglars, looked upon themselves as +ruined, and passed a very bad night. Next morning Le Moniteur +contained the following: + + "It was without any foundation that Le Messager yesterday + announced the flight of Don Carlos and the revolt of + Barcelona. The King (Don Carlos) has not left Bourges, and + the peninsula is in the enjoyment of profound peace. A + telegraphic signal, improperly interpreted owing to the fog, + was the cause of this error." + +The funds rose one per cent, higher than before they had +fallen. This, reckoning his loss, and what he had missed gaining, +made the difference of a million to Danglars. "Good!" said +Monte Cristo to Morrel, who was at his house when the news +arrived of the strange reverse of fortune of which Danglars had +been the victim. "I have just made a discovery for twenty-five +thousand francs, for which I would have paid a hundred thousand." + +"What have you discovered?" asked Morrel. + +"I have just discovered the method of ridding a gardener of +the dormice that eat his peaches." + + + +THE SHOULDER OF ATHOS, THE BELT OF PORTHOS, AND THE HANDKERCHIEF OF +ARAMIS + +From 'The Three Musketeers' + + +Furious with rage, D'Artagnan crossed the ante-room in three strides, +and began to descend the stairs four steps at a time, without looking +where he was going; when suddenly he was brought up short by knocking +violently against the shoulder of a musketeer who was leaving the +apartments of M. De Treville. The young man staggered backwards from +the shock, uttering a cry, or rather a yell. + +"Excuse me," said D'Artagnan, trying to pass him, "but I am in a great +hurry." + +He had hardly placed his foot on the next step, when he was stopped by +the grasp of an iron wrist on his sash. + +"You are in a great hurry!" cried the musketeer, whose face was the +color of a shroud; "and you think that is enough apology for nearly +knocking me down? Not so fast, my young man. I suppose you imagine +that because you heard M. De Treville speaking to us rather brusquely +to-day, that everybody may treat us in the same way? But you are +mistaken, and it is as well you should learn that you are not M. De +Treville." + +"Upon my honor," replied D'Artagnan, recognizing Athos, who was +returning to his room after having his wound dressed, "upon my honor, +it was an accident, and therefore I begged your pardon. I should have +thought that was all that was necessary. I repeat that I am in a very +great hurry, and I should be much obliged if you would let me go my +way." + +"Monsieur," said Athos, loosening his hold, "you are sadly lacking in +courtesy, and one sees that you must have had a rustic upbringing." + +D'Artagnan was by this time half-way down another flight; but on +hearing Athos's remark he stopped short. + +"My faith, monsieur!" exclaimed he, "however rustic I may be, I shall +not come to you to teach me manners." + +"I am not so sure of that," replied Athos. + +"Oh, if I was only not in such haste," cried D'Artagnan; "if only I +was not pursuing somebody--" + +"Monsieur, you will find me without running after me. Do you +understand?" + +"And where, if you please?" + +"Near Carmes-Deschaux." + +"At what hour?" + +"Twelve o'clock." + +"Very good. At twelve I will be there." + +"And don't be late, for at a quarter past twelve I will cut off your +ears for you." + +"All right," called out D'Artagnan, dashing on down-stairs after his +man; "you may expect me at ten minutes before the hour." + +But he was not to escape so easily. At the street door stood Porthos, +talking to a sentry, and between the two men there was barely space +for a man to pass. D'Artagnan took it for granted that he could get +through, and darted on, swift as an arrow, but he had not reckoned on +the gale that was blowing. As he passed, a sudden gust wrapped +Porthos's mantle tight round him; and though the owner of the garment +could easily have freed him had he so chosen, for reasons of his own +he preferred to draw the folds still closer. + +D'Artagnan, hearing the volley of oaths let fall by the musketeers, +feared he might have damaged the splendor of the belt, and struggled +to unwind himself; but when he at length freed his head, he found that +like most things in this world the belt had two sides, and while the +front bristled with gold, the back was mere leather; which explains +why Porthos always had a cold and could not part from his mantle. + +"Confound you!" cried Porthos, struggling in his turn, "have you gone +mad, that you tumble over people like this?" + +"Excuse me," answered D'Artagnan, "but I am in a great hurry. I am +pursuing some one, and--" + +"And I suppose that on such occasions you leave your eyes behind you?" +asked Porthos. + +"No," replied D'Artagnan, rather nettled; "and thanks to my eyes, I +often see things that other people don't." + +Possibly Porthos might have understood this allusion, but in any case +he did not attempt to control his anger, and said sharply:-- + +"Monsieur, we shall have to give you a lesson if you take to tumbling +against the musketeers like this!" + +"A lesson, monsieur!" replied D'Artagnan; "that is rather a severe +expression." + +"It is the expression of a man who is always accustomed to look his +enemies in the face." + +"Oh, if that is all, there is no fear of _your_ turning your back on +anybody," and enchanted at his own wit, the young man walked away in +fits of laughter. + +Porthos foamed with rage, and rushed after D'Artagnan. + +"By-and-by, by-and-by," cried the latter; "when you have not got your +mantle on." + +"At one o'clock then, behind the Luxembourg." + +"All right; at one o'clock," replied D'Artagnan as he vanished around +the corner. + +But he could see no one either in the street he had passed through, or +in the one his eager gaze was searching; however slowly the stranger +might have walked, he had gone his way, or perhaps into some house. +D'Artagnan inquired of everybody he met, but could find nothing at all +about him. This chase however did him good in one way; for in +proportion as the sweat started out on his forehead, his heart began +to cool. + +He began to think over the many unlucky things which had happened. It +was scarcely eleven in the morning, and yet this morning had already +brought him into disgrace with M. Treville, who must think the way +D'Artagnan had left him was rather boorish. + +Moreover, he had gotten himself into two fierce duels with two men, +each able to kill three D'Artagnans; in a word, with two +musketeers,--beings he set so high that he placed them above all other +men. + +It was a sad lookout. To be sure, as the youth was certain to be +killed by Athos, he was not much disturbed about Porthos. As hope is +the last thing to die in a man's heart, however, he ended by hoping +that he might come out alive from both duels, even if dreadfully +injured; and on that supposition he scored himself in this way for his +conduct:-- + +"What a rattle-headed dunce I am! That brave and unfortunate Athos was +wounded right on that shoulder I ran against head-foremost, like a +ram. The only thing that surprises me is that he didn't strike me dead +on the spot; he had provocation enough, for I must have hurt him +savagely. As to Porthos--oh! as to Porthos--that's a funny affair!" + +And the youth began to laugh aloud in spite of himself; looking round +carefully, however, to see if his laughing alone in public without +apparent cause aroused any suspicion. + +"As to Porthos, it is funny enough, to be sure, but I am a crazy +blockhead all the same. Are people to be run into without warning? No! +And have I any right to peep under their cloaks to see what they +haven't got? He would have forgiven me, I am sure, if I had said +nothing to him about that cursed cloak,--with a double meaning, it is +true, but too broad a joke in one of them! Ah! cursed Gascon that I +am, I believe I should crack a joke if I was being roasted over a slow +fire. Friend D'Artagnan," he went on, speaking to himself with the +gentleness he thought fair, "if you get away, which there is not much +chance of, I would advise you to practice entire politeness for the +future. You must henceforth be admired and quoted as a model of it. To +be obliging and civil does not necessarily make a man a coward. Look +at Aramis, now: mildness and grace embodied; and did anybody ever +dream of calling Aramis a coward? No indeed, and from this instant I +will try to model myself after him. And luckily, here he is." + +D'Artagnan, walking and soliloquizing, had come within a few steps of +the Aiguillon House, and in front of it saw Aramis chatting gayly with +three of the King's Guards. Aramis also saw D'Artagnan; but not having +forgotten that it was in his presence M. de Treville had got so angry +in the morning, and as a witness of the rebuke was not at all +pleasant, he pretended not to see him. D'Artagnan, on the other hand, +full of his plans of conciliation and politeness, approached the young +man with a profound bow accompanied by a most gracious smile. Aramis +bowed slightly but did not smile. Moreover, all four immediately broke +off their conversation. + +D'Artagnan was not so dull as not to see he was not wanted; but he was +not yet used enough to social customs to know how to extricate himself +dexterously from his false position, which his generally is who +accosts people he is little acquainted with, and mingles in a +conversation which does not concern him. He was mentally casting about +for the least awkward manner of retreat, when he noticed that Aramis +had let his handkerchief fall, and (doubtless by mistake) put his foot +on it. This seemed a favorable chance to repair his mistake of +intrusion: he stooped down, and with the most gracious air he could +assume, drew the handkerchief from under the foot in spite of the +efforts made to detain it, and holding it out to Aramis, said:-- + +"I believe, sir, this is a handkerchief you would be sorry to lose?" + +The handkerchief was in truth richly embroidered, and had a cornet and +a coat of arms at one corner. Aramis blushed excessively, and snatched +rather than took the handkerchief. + +"Ha! ha!" exclaimed one of the guards, "will you go on saying now, +most discreet Aramis, that you are not on good terms with Madame de +Bois-Tracy, when that gracious lady does you the favor of lending you +her handkerchief!" + +Aramis darted at D'Artagnan one of those looks which tell a man that +he has made a mortal enemy; then assuming his mild air he said:-- + +"You are mistaken, gentlemen: this handkerchief is not mine, and I +cannot understand why this gentleman has taken it into his head to +offer it to me rather than to one of you. And as a proof of what I +say, here is mine in my pocket." + +So saying, he pulled out his handkerchief, which was also not only a +very dainty one, and of fine linen (though linen was then costly), but +was embroidered and without arms, bearing only a single cipher, the +owner's. + +This time D'Artagnan saw his mistake; but Aramis's friends were by no +means convinced, and one of them, addressing the young musketeer with +pretended gravity, said:-- + +"If things were as you make out, I should feel obliged, my dear +Aramis, to reclaim it myself; for as you very well know, Bois-Tracy is +an intimate friend of mine, and I cannot allow one of his wife's +belongings to be exhibited as a trophy." + +"You make the demand clumsily," replied Aramis; "and while I +acknowledge the justice of your reclamation, I refuse it on account of +the form." + +"The fact is," D'Artagnan put in hesitatingly, "I did not actually see +the handkerchief fall from M. Aramis's pocket. He had his foot on it, +that's all, and I thought it was his." + +"And you were deceived, my dear sir," replied Aramis coldly, very +little obliged for the explanation; then turning to the guard who had +professed himself Bois-Tracy's friend--"Besides," he went on, "I have +reflected, my dear intimate friend of Bois-Tracy, that I am not less +devotedly his friend than you can possibly be, so that this +handkerchief is quite as likely to have fallen from your pocket as +from mine!" + +"On my honor, no!" + +"You are about to swear on your honor, and I on my word; and then it +will be pretty evident that one of us will have lied. Now here, +Montaran, we will do better than that: let each take a half." + +"Perfectly fair," cried the other two guardsmen; "the judgment of +Solomon! Aramis, you are certainly full of wisdom!" + +They burst into a loud laugh, and as may be supposed, the incident +bore no other fruit. In a minute or two the conversation stopped, and +the three guards and the musketeer, after heartily shaking hands, +separated, the guards going one way and Aramis another. + +"Now is the time to make my peace with this gentleman," said +D'Artagnan to himself, having stood on one side during all the latter +part of the conversation; and in this good spirit drawing near to +Aramis, who was going off without paying any attention to him, he +said:-- + +"You will excuse me, I hope." + +"Ah!" interrupted Aramis, "permit me to observe to you, sir, that you +have not acted in this affair as a man of good breeding ought." + +"What!" cried D'Artagnan, "do you suppose--" + +"I suppose that you are not a fool, and that you knew very well, even +though you come from Gascony, that people do not stand on +handkerchiefs for nothing. What the devil! Paris is not paved with +linen!" + +"Sir, you do wrong in trying to humiliate me," said D'Artagnan, in +whom his native pugnacity began to speak louder than his peaceful +resolutions. "I come from Gascony, it is true; and since you know it, +there is no need to tell you that Gascons are not very patient, so +that when they have asked pardon once, even for a folly, they think +they have done at least as much again as they ought to have done." + +"Sir, what I say to you about this matter," said Aramis, "is not for +the sake of hunting a quarrel. Thank Heaven, I am not a swashbuckler, +and being a musketeer only for a while, I only fight when I am forced +to do so, and always with great reluctance; but this time the affair +is serious, for here is a lady compromised by you." + +"By us, you mean," cried D'Artagnan. + +"Why did you give me back the handkerchief so awkwardly?" + +"Why did you let it fall so awkwardly?" + +"I have said that the handkerchief did not fall from my pocket." + +"Well, by saying that you have told two lies, sir; for I saw it fall." + +"Oh ho! you take it up that way, do you, Master Gascon? Well, I will +teach you how to behave yourself." + +"And I will send you back to your pulpit, Master Priest. Draw, if you +please, and instantly--" + +"Not so, if you please, my good friend; not here, at least. Do you not +see that we are opposite Aiguillon House, full of the Cardinal's +creatures? How do I know that it is not his Eminence who has honored +you with the commission to bring him in my head? Now, I entertain an +absurd partiality for my head, it seems to suit my shoulders so +finely. I have no objection to killing you, you may be sure, but +quietly, in a snug, distant spot, where you will not be able to boast +of your death to anybody." + +"I agree, but don't be too confident; and take away your +handkerchief--whether it belongs to you or somebody else, perhaps you +may stand in need of it to bandage up a wound. As a Gascon, I don't +put off engagements for prudence's sake." + +"Prudence is a virtue useless enough to musketeers, I know, but +indispensable to churchmen; and as I am only a temporary musketeer, I +hold it best to be prudent. At two o'clock I shall have the honor of +expecting you at Treville's. There I will point out the best place and +time to you." + +The two bowed and separated. Aramis went up the street which led to +the Luxembourg; while D'Artagnan, seeing that the appointed hour was +coming near, took the road to the Carmes-Deschaux, saying to himself, +"I certainly cannot hope to come out of these scrapes alive; but if I +am doomed to be killed, it will be by a royal musketeer." + + + +THE DEFENSE OF THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS + +From 'The Three Musketeers' + + +When D'Artagnan arrived, he found his three friends all together. +Athos was thinking deeply, Porthos was twirling his mustache, and +Aramis was reading his prayers out of a beautiful little book bound in +blue velvet. + +"My faith, gentlemen!" exclaimed he, "I hope that what you have to +tell me is very important, or I shall owe you a grudge for dragging +me here, out of my bed, after a whole night passed in taking and +dismantling a bastion! Ah, it is a thousand pities you were not there! +It was warm work!" + +"We were somewhere else, where it was not very cold either," replied +Porthos, giving his mustache another twist.... + +"Aramis," said Athos, "didn't you breakfast the other day at +Parpaillot's?" + +"Yes." + +"Were you comfortable there?" + +"No, I did not like it at all. It was a fast day, and they had nothing +but meat." + +"What, no fish to be had in a seaport town?" + +"They say," replied Aramis, taking up his book, "that they have all +taken to the deep sea, since the Cardinal built that dike." + +"That is not what I was asking," replied Athos. "Were you quite free +and at your ease, or did any one pay attention to you?" + +"Oh, nobody paid any attention to me. And if _that_ is your object, +Athos, Parpaillot's will suit us very well." + +"Let us go at once then," said Athos, "for these walls are like +paper." + +On the way they met Grimaud [the valet of Athos], whom Athos beckoned +silently to follow them. Grimaud, according to his custom, obeyed +without a word. The poor fellow had almost forgotten how to speak! + +It did not take them long to reach Parpaillot's, but unluckily the +hour was ill chosen for a private conference. The _réveille_ had just +been sounded, and the sleepy soldiers were all pouring into the inn. +This state of matters delighted the landlord, but was hardly so +agreeable to the four friends, who merely nodded sulkily at the +salutations of the crowd. + +"If we are not careful," said Athos, rousing himself, "we shall find +ourselves landed in some quarrel, which would be highly inconvenient +at this moment. D'Artagnan, tell us about your night's work, and then +we will tell you about ours." + +"Ah yes," said a light-horse soldier, who was slowly sipping a glass +of brandy, "you were down at the trenches last night, I think, and I +believe you had a brush with the Rochellois." + +D'Artagnan looked at Athos, to see if he ought to answer or not. + +"My dear fellow," replied Athos, "I don't think you are aware that M. +De Busigny did you the honor to address you! Since these gentlemen are +interested in last night's affair, tell them about it." + +"Is it true that you captured a bastion?" asked a Swiss, who had +filled his beer up with rum. + +"Yes, monsieur," replied D'Artagnan, "we had that honor. We also +introduced a barrel of powder into a corner, which in exploding opened +a really beautiful breach; and as the bastion was not built yesterday, +the whole building was severely shaken." + +"What bastion was it?" said a dragoon, who was holding a goose on the +point of his sword, and cooking it at the fire. + +"The Bastion Saint-Gervais," replied D'Artagnan; "the Rochellois +behind it were always annoying our men." + +"And there was a good deal of sharp-shooting?" + +"A good deal. We lost five men, and the Rochellois eight or ten." + +"But this morning," went on the light-horseman, "they will probably +send down some pioneers to rebuild the bastion." + +"Yes, probably," answered D'Artagnan. + +"Gentlemen," broke in Athos, "I want to propose a bet." + +"What bet?" asked the light-horseman. + +"I bet you, M. De Busigny, that I and my three friends Porthos, +Aramis, and D'Artagnan, will breakfast in the Bastion Saint-Gervais, +and will hold it an hour by the clock, against all comers." + +Porthos and Aramis looked at each other. They were beginning to +understand what Athos had in his head. + +"But," objected D'Artagnan, leaning over to whisper to Athos, "we +shall be killed without a chance of escape." + +"We shall be killed a great deal more certainly if we don't go," +replied Athos. + +"Ah!" ejaculated Porthos, twirling his mustache, "that is a grand +bet." + +"I take it," said M. De Busigny; "let us fix the stakes." + +"That is easily done," replied Athos. "We are four and you are four. +The loser shall give the whole eight a dinner." + +"Very well, let us agree to that," said M. De Busigny and the dragoon. + +"Your breakfast is ready, gentlemen," broke in the landlord at this +instant. + +"Then bring it here," answered Athos. + +The landlord obeyed, and Athos, making a sign to Grimaud, pointed out +a large basket standing in a corner, which he was to fill with wine +and food. + +"But where are you going to eat it?" asked the landlord. + +"What does that matter to you as long as you are paid?" replied Athos, +throwing two pistoles on the table. Then, turning to M. De Busigny, he +observed:-- + +"Will you have the kindness, monsieur, to set your watch by mine, or +let me set mine by yours?" + +"Certainly, monsieur," said the light-horseman, drawing out a +beautiful watch incrusted with diamonds; "half-past seven." + +"Five-and-twenty minutes to eight. So I am five minutes faster than +you;" and bowing to the rest of the company, the four young men took +the road to the Bastion Saint-Gervais, followed by Grimaud carrying +the basket. He had not the faintest idea where they were going, or +what they were to do, but Athos had given his orders, and he always +obeyed without questioning. + +As long as they were within the camp, the four friends remained +silent; but once they had passed the wall of circumvallation, +D'Artagnan, who was completely in the dark, thought it was time to ask +for an explanation. + +"And now, my dear Athos," said he, "will you be good enough to tell me +where we are bound for?" + +"Why, for the bastion, of course." + +"And what are we to do when we get there?" + +"I told you before. We are going to breakfast." + +"But why didn't we do that at Parpaillot's?" + +"Because we had some important matters to discuss, and it was +impossible to talk for five minutes at that inn, with all those people +coming and going, and perpetually bowing and speaking to you. Here at +least," continued Athos, pointing to the bastion, "we shall not be +interrupted." + +"It seems to me," said D'Artagnan, with the caution which was as much +his characteristic as his foolhardy courage, "it seems to me that we +might have found some secluded place among the sand-hills on the +sea-shore." + +"Oh, somebody would have seen, and in a quarter of an hour spies would +have informed the Cardinal that we were holding council." + +"Yes," said Aramis. "Athos is right. _Animadvertuntur in desertis._" + +"A desert would have done very well," replied Porthos; "but first we +should have to find it." + +"There is no desert where a bird cannot fly overhead, or a fish jump +out of the water, or a rabbit run out of his hole; and bird, fish, and +rabbit have all become spies of the Cardinal. Much better to go on +with our adventure, which we cannot now give up without dishonor. We +have made a bet, and a bet on the spur of the moment; a bet of which I +defy any one to guess the true meaning. To win it, we must hold the +bastion for an hour. Either they will attack us, or they won't. If we +are left unmolested, we shall have plenty of time to talk without any +one overhearing us, for I will answer for the walls of this bastion +having no ears. If they try to dislodge us, we can talk all the same, +and in defending our position shall cover ourselves with glory. You +see that from every point of view we have the whip hand." + +"Yes," said D'Artagnan, "but most certainly we shall attract some +stray bullet." + +"My good fellow," remarked Athos, "do you really think that the +enemy's bullets are those we have most cause to fear?" + +"But surely, if we were embarking on such an expedition, we ought to +have brought our muskets?" + +"Porthos, you are a goose! What would be the good of burdening +ourselves with anything so useless?" + +"I should hardly think that a heavy musket, a dozen cartridges, and a +powder flask would be useless when one is in the presence of an +enemy." + +"Dear me!" said Athos, "didn't you hear what D'Artagnan was saying?" + +"What did D'Artagnan say?" asked Porthos. + +"He said that during last night's attack eight or ten Frenchmen were +killed, and as many Rochellois." + +"Well?" + +"Well, hasn't everybody been too busy ever since to think of stripping +the dead bodies?" + +"What then?" + +"What then? Why, we shall find their muskets, their flasks, and their +cartridges, all waiting for us; and instead of four muskets and twelve +charges, there will be fifteen pieces and a hundred bullets." + +"O Athos," exclaimed Aramis, "you are a great man!" + +Porthos nodded approval; only D'Artagnan did not seem to be convinced; +and Grimaud appeared to have his doubts, for seeing they were still +making for the bastion (which up to that moment he had declined to +believe), he plucked his master by the coat. + +"Where are we going?" he asked by a sign. + +Athos pointed out the bastion. + +"But," objected Grimaud, speaking always in pantomime, "we shall leave +our bodies there." + +Athos raised his hands and eyes to heaven. Grimaud placed his basket +on the ground and sat down, shaking his head. + +Athos took a pistol from his belt, looked to see if it was well +primed, cocked it, and approached the barrel to Grimaud's ear. Grimaud +was on his legs again, as if by magic. Athos then signed to him to +take up the basket and go on. + +Grimaud obeyed. + +When they reached the bastion, the four friends turned round and +beheld over three hundred soldiers assembled at the gate of the camp; +M. De Busigny, the dragoon, the Swiss, and their silent companion +forming a group apart. + +Athos removed his hat, put it on the edge of his sword, and waved it +in the air. + +The spectators returned his salute and gave a great hurrah, which +penetrated to their ears even at that distance. Then all four +disappeared inside the bastion, where Grimaud had preceded them. + + + +THE CONSULTATION OF THE MUSKETEERS + +From 'The Three Musketeers' + + +As Athos had assumed, the bastion was only occupied by a dozen dead +men, French and Rochellois. + +"Gentlemen," said Athos, to whom the command of the expedition +naturally fell, "while Grimaud lays out breakfast, we will begin by +picking up the muskets and cartridges, and of course there is nothing +in this employment to prevent our talking. Our friends here," he +added, pointing to the dead, "will pay no attention to us." + +"But after we have made sure they have nothing in their pockets, we +had better throw them into the trench," said Porthos. + +"Yes," replied Athos, "that is Grimaud's business." + +"Well then," said D'Artagnan, "let Grimaud search them, and after he +has done so, throw them over the wall." + +"He shall do nothing of the sort," replied Athos; "we may find them +useful yet." + +"You are going mad, my good fellow! Of what use can these dead men +be?" + +"Don't judge hastily, say the gospel and the Cardinal," replied Athos. +"How many guns have we got?" + +"Twelve," said Aramis. + +"How many charges?" + +"A hundred." + +"That will do. Now let us load." + +They set to work; and as they finished loading the last gun, Grimaud +made a sign that breakfast was ready. + +By a gesture Athos replied that they were ready also, and then pointed +out a pepper-box turret, where Grimaud was to keep watch. To help him +pass the time Athos allowed him to take some bread, two cutlets, and a +bottle of wine.... + +"Now," said D'Artagnan, "that there is no chance of our being +overheard, I hope you will tell us your secret." + +"I trust, gentlemen, to give you both pleasure and glory at once," +replied Athos. "I have made you take a charming walk, and now here is +an excellent breakfast; while below, as you may see through the +loop-holes, are five hundred persons, who consider us to be either +lunatics or heroes,--two classes of idiots who have much in +common...." + +"What is the matter, Grimaud? As the circumstances are grave, I will +allow you to speak, but be short, I beg. What is it?" + +"A troop." + +"How many?" + +"Twenty?" + +"What are they?" + +"Sixteen pioneers, four soldiers." + +"How far off?" + +"Five hundred paces." + +"Then we have just time to finish this fowl and drink your health, +D'Artagnan." + +A few minutes later the troop hove in sight, marching along a narrow +trench that connected the bastion and the town. + +"Bah!" said Athos. "It was scarcely worth while disturbing ourselves +for a mere handful of rascals armed with pickaxes, hoes, and shovels. +Grimaud had only got to make them a sign to return whence they came, +and I am sure they would have left us in peace." + +"I doubt it," said D'Artagnan, "for they are advancing steadily. And +besides the sappers, there are four soldiers and a brigadier, all +armed with muskets." + +"It is only because they have not seen us," replied Athos. + +"Upon my honor," cried Aramis, "I feel quite ashamed to fire on poor +devils like that." + +"False priest!" exclaimed Porthos, "to have pity on heretics." + +"Aramis is right," said Athos. "I will warn them." + +"What on earth are you doing?" said D'Artagnan. "You will get yourself +shot, my good fellow." + +But Athos paid no attention to this remark, and mounting the breach, +his hat in one hand and his musket in the other, he addressed the +troop, who were so astonished at this unexpected apparition that they +halted about fifty paces distant. "Gentlemen," he said, bowing +courteously as he spoke, "I am at this moment breakfasting with some +friends in the shelter of this bastion. As you know, there is nothing +so unpleasant as to be disturbed during your meals; therefore we +should be greatly obliged if you would postpone any business you may +have here, till we have finished, or else call again. Unless, indeed, +you have the happy inspiration to quit the side of rebellion, and to +drink, with us, to the health of the King of France." + +"Do take care, Athos!" exclaimed D'Artagnan; "don't you see they are +aiming at you?" + +"Oh, yes, of course," said Athos; "but they are only civilians, who +don't know how to shoot; and they will never touch me." + +He had scarcely uttered the words when four muskets fired +simultaneously. The balls fell round Athos, but not one grazed him. + +Four muskets immediately answered, but these were better directed than +the others. Three of the soldiers fell dead, and one of the sappers +was wounded. + +"Grimaud, another musket," said Athos, who was still on the breach. +Grimaud obeyed; a second volley was fired; the brigadier and two +pioneers fell dead, and the rest of the troop took flight. + +"Now we must make a sortie," cried Athos; and the four comrades dashed +out of the fort, picked up the muskets belonging to the dead soldiers, +and retreated to the bastion, carrying the trophies of their +victory.... + +"To arms!" called Grimaud. + +The young men jumped up and ran for their muskets. + +This time the advancing troop was composed of twenty or twenty-five +men, but they were no longer sappers, but soldiers of the garrison. + +"Hadn't we better return to the camp?" said Porthos. "The fight is not +equal at all." + +"Impossible, for three reasons," said Athos. "First, because we +haven't finished breakfast; second, because we have several important +things to discuss; and third, because there are still ten minutes +before the hour is up." + +"Well, anyway," remarked Aramis, "we had better have some plan of +campaign." + +"It is very simple," replied Athos. "The moment the enemy is within +reach, we fire. If they still come on, we fire again, and go on firing +as long as our guns are loaded. If any of them are left, and they try +to carry the place by assault, we will let them get well into the +ditch, and then drop on their heads a piece of the wall, that only +keeps poised by a kind of miracle." + +"Bravo," cried Porthos. "Athos, you were born to be a general; and the +Cardinal, who thinks himself a great commander, is not to be compared +to you." + +"Gentlemen," replied Athos, "remember, one thing at a time. Cover your +man well." + +"I have mine," said D'Artagnan. + +"And I," said Porthos and Aramis. + +"Then fire;" and as Athos gave the word, the muskets rang out and four +men fell. Then the drum beat, and the little army advanced to the +charge, while all the while the fire was kept up, irregularly, but +with a sure aim. The Rochellois however did not flinch, but came on +steadily. + +When they reached the foot of the bastion, the enemy still numbered +twelve or fifteen. A sharp fire received them, but they never +faltered, and leaping the trench, prepared to scale the breach. + +"Now, comrades!" cried Athos. "Let us make an end of them. To the +wall!" + +And all four, aided by Grimaud, began to push with their guns a huge +block of wall, which swayed as if with the wind, and then rolled +slowly down into the trench. A horrible cry was heard, a cloud of dust +mounted upwards; and all was silent. + +"Have we crushed them all, do you think?" asked Athos. + +"It looks like it," answered D'Artagnan. + +"No," said Porthos, "for two or three are limping off." + +Athos looked at his watch. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "an hour has elapsed since we came here, and we +have won our bet." ... + +"What is going on in the town?" asked Athos. + +"It is a call to arms." + +They listened, and the sound of a drum reached their ears. + +"They must be sending us an entire regiment," said Athos. + +"You don't mean to fight a whole regiment?" said Porthos. + +"Why not?" asked the musketeer. "If we had only had the sense to bring +another dozen bottles, I could make head against an army!" + +"As I live, the drum is coming nearer," said D'Artagnan. + +"Let it," replied Athos. "It takes a quarter of an hour to get from +here to the town, so it takes a quarter of an hour to get from the +town here. That is more than enough time for us to arrange our plans. +If we leave this, we shall never find such a good position.... But I +must first give Grimaud his orders;" and Athos made a sign to his +servant. + +"Grimaud," said he, pointing to the dead who were lying on the +bastion, "you will take these gentlemen and prop them up against the +wall, and put their hats on their heads and their guns in their +hands." + +"Great man!" ejaculated D'Artagnan; "I begin to see." + +"You do?" asked Porthos. + +"Do _you_ understand, Grimaud?" said Aramis. + +Grimaud nodded. + +"Then we are all right," said Athos.... + +"On guard!" cried D'Artagnan. "Look at those red and black points +moving down there! A regiment, did you call it, Athos?--it is a +perfect army!" + +"My word, yes!" said Athos, "there they come! How cunning to beat +neither drums nor trumpets. Are you ready, Grimaud?" + +Grimaud silently nodded, and showed them a dozen dead men, arranged +skillfully in various attitudes, some porting arms, some taking aim, +others drawing their swords. + +"Well done!" exclaimed Athos, "it does honor to your imagination." + +"If it is all the same to you," said Porthos, "I should like to +understand what is going on." + +"Let us get away first," replied D'Artagnan, "and you will understand +after." + +"One moment, please! Give Grimaud time to clear away the breakfast." + +"Ah!" said Aramis; "the red and black specks are becoming more +distinct, and I agree with D'Artagnan that we have no time to lose +before we regain the camp." + +"Very well," rejoined Athos, "I have nothing to say against +retreating. The wager was for an hour, and we have been here an hour +and a half. Let us be off at once." + +The four comrades went out at the back, following Grimaud, who had +already departed with the basket. + +"Oh!" cried Athos, stopping suddenly, "what the devil is to be done?" + +"Has anything been forgotten?" asked Aramis. + +"Our flag, man, our flag! We can't leave our flag in the enemy's +hands, if it is nothing but a napkin." And Athos dashed again into the +bastion, and bore away the flag unhurt, amid a volley of balls from +the Rochellois. + +He waved his flag, while turning his back on the troops of the town, +and saluting those of the camp. From both sides arose great cries, of +anger on the one hand and enthusiasm on the other, and the napkin, +pierced with three bullet-holes, was in truth transformed into a flag. +"Come down, come down!" they shouted from the camp. + +Athos came down, and his friends, who had awaited him anxiously, +received him with joy. + +"Be quick, Athos," said D'Artagnan; "now that we have got everything +but money, it would be stupid to get killed." + +But Athos would not hurry himself, and they had to keep pace with him. + +By this time Grimaud and his basket were well beyond bullet range, +while in the distance the sounds of rapid firing might be heard. + +"What are they doing?" asked Porthos; "what are they firing at?" + +"At our dead men," replied Athos. + +"But they don't fire back." + +"Exactly so; therefore the enemy will come to the conclusion that +there is an ambuscade. They will hold a council, and send an envoy +with a flag of truce, and when they at last find out the joke, we +shall be out of reach. So it is no use getting apoplexy by racing." + +"Oh, I understand," said Porthos, full of astonishment. + +"That is a mercy!" replied Athos, shrugging his shoulders, as they +approached the camp, which was watching their progress in a ferment of +admiration. + +This time a new fusillade was begun, and the balls whistled close to +the heads of the four victors and fell about their ears. The +Rochellois had entered the bastion. + +"What bad shooting!" said D'Artagnan. "How many was it we killed? +Twelve?" + +"Twelve or fifteen." + +"And how many did we crush?" + +"Eight or ten." + +"And not a scratch to show for it." + +"Ah, what is that on your hand, D'Artagnan? It looks to me like +blood." + +"It's nothing," replied D'Artagnan. + +"A spent ball?" + +"Not even that." + +"But what is it, then?" As we have said, the silent and resolute Athos +loved D'Artagnan like his own son, and showed every now and then all +the anxiety of a father. + +"The skin is rubbed off, that is all," said D'Artagnan. "My fingers +were caught between two stones--the stone of the wall and the stone of +my ring." + +"That is what comes of having diamonds," remarked Athos +disdainfully.... + +"Here we are at the camp, and they are coming to meet us and bring us +in triumphantly." + +And he only spoke the truth, for the whole camp was in a turmoil. More +than two thousand people had gazed, as at a play, at the lucky bit of +braggadocio of the four friends,--braggadocio of which they were far +from suspecting the real motive. The cry of "Long live the +musketeers," resounded on all sides, and M. De Busigny was the first +to hold out his hand to Athos and to declare that he had lost his +wager. The dragoon and the Swiss had followed him, and all the others +had followed the dragoon and the Swiss. There was nothing but +congratulations, hand-shakings, embraces; and the tumult became so +great that the Cardinal thought there must be a revolt, and sent La +Houdinière, his captain of guards, to find out what was the matter. + +"Well?" asked the Cardinal, as his messenger returned. + +"Well, monseigneur," replied La Houdinière, "it is about three +musketeers and a guardsman who made a bet with M. De Busigny to go and +breakfast at the Bastion Saint-Gervais, and while breakfasting, held +it for two hours against the enemy, and killed I don't know how many +Rochellois." + +"You asked the names of these gentlemen?" + +"Yes, monseigneur." + +"What are they?" + +"Athos, Porthos, and Aramis." + +"Always my three heroes," murmured the Cardinal. "And the guardsman?" + +"M. D'Artagnan." + +"Always my young rogue! I must gain over these men." + +And the same evening, the Cardinal had a conversation with M. De +Treville about the morning's exploit, with which the whole camp was +still ringing. M. De Treville, who had heard it all at first hand, +gave his Eminence all the details, not forgetting the episode of the +napkin. + +"Very good, M. De Treville," said the Cardinal; "but you must get me +that napkin, and I will have three golden lilies embroidered on it, +and give as a banner to your company." + +"Monseigneur," replied M. De Treville, "that would be an injustice to +the guards. M. D'Artagnan does not belong to me, but to M. Des +Essarts." + +"Then you must take him," said the Cardinal. "As these four brave +soldiers love each other so much, they ought certainly to be in the +same regiment." + +That evening M. De Treville announced the good news to the three +musketeers and to D'Artagnan, and invited them all to breakfast the +following day. + +D'Artagnan was nearly beside himself with joy. As we know, it had +been the dream of his life to be a musketeer. + + + +THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK + +From 'The Viscount of Bragelonne' + + + [Dumas adopts the theory that the Man in the Iron Mask was + the suppressed twin brother of Louis XIV.] + +"What is all this noise?" asked Philippe, turning towards the door of +the concealed staircase. And as he spoke a voice was heard saying, +"This way, this way. Still a few steps, sire." + +"It is M. Fouquet's voice," said D'Artagnan, who was standing near the +Queen Mother. + +"Then M. D'Herblay will not be far off," added Philippe; but little +did he expect to see the person who actually entered. + +All eyes were riveted on the door, from which the voice of M. Fouquet +proceeded; but it was not he who came through. + +A cry of anguish rang through the room, breaking forth simultaneously +from the King and the spectators, and surely never had been seen a +stranger sight. + +The shutters were half closed, and only a feeble light struggled +through the velvet curtains, with their thick silk linings, and the +eyes of the courtiers had to get accustomed to the darkness before +they could distinguish between the surrounding objects. But once +discerned, they stood out as clear as day. + +So, looking up, they saw Louis XIV. in the doorway of the private +stair, his face pale and his brows bent; and behind him stood Fouquet. + +The Queen Mother, whose hand held that of Philippe, uttered a shriek +at the sight, thinking that she beheld a ghost. + +Monsieur staggered for a moment and turned away his head, looking from +the King who was facing him to the King who was by his side. + +Madame on the contrary stepped forward, thinking it must be her +brother-in-law reflected in a mirror. And indeed, this seemed the only +rational explanation of the double image. + +Both young men, agitated and trembling, clenching their hands, darting +flames of fury from their eyes, dumb, breathless, ready to spring at +each other's throats, resembled each other so exactly in feature, +figure, and even, by pure accident, in dress, that Anne of Austria +herself stood confounded. For as yet the truth had not dawned on her. +There are some torments that we all instinctively reject. It is +easier far to accept the supernatural, the impossible. + +That he should encounter such obstacles had never for one moment +occurred to Louis. He imagined he had only to show himself, for the +world to fall at his feet. The Sun-king could have no rival; and where +his rays did not fall, there must be darkness-- + +As to Fouquet, who could describe his bewilderment at the sight of the +living portrait of his master? Then he thought that Aramis was right, +and that the new-comer was every whit as much a king as his double, +and that after all, perhaps he had made a mistake when he had declined +to share in the _coup d'état_ so cleverly plotted by the General of +the Jesuits. + +And then, it was equally the blood royal of Louis XIII. that Fouquet +had determined to sacrifice to blood in all respects identical; a +noble ambition, to one that was selfish. And it was the mere aspect of +the pretender which showed him all these things. + +D'Artagnan, leaning against the wall and facing Fouquet, was debating +in his own mind the key to this wonderful riddle. He felt +instinctively, though he could not have told why, that in the meeting +of the two Louis XIV's lay the explanation of all that had seemed +suspicious in the conduct of Aramis during the last few days. + +Suddenly Louis XIV., by nature the most impatient of the two young +men, and with the habit of command that was the result of training, +strode across the room and flung open one of the shutters. The flood +of light that streamed through the window caused Philippe +involuntarily to recoil, and to step back into the shelter of an +alcove. + +The movement struck Louis, and turning to the Queen he said: + +"Mother, do you not know your own son, although every one else has +denied his King?" + +Anne trembled at his voice and raised her arms to heaven, but could +not utter a single word. + +"Mother," retorted Philippe in his quietest tones, "do you not know +your own son?" + +And this time it was Louis who stepped back. + +As for Anne, pierced to the heart with grief and remorse, she could +bear it no longer. She staggered where she stood, and unaided by her +attendants, who seemed turned into stone, she sank down on a sofa with +a sigh. + +This spectacle was too much for Louis. He rushed to D'Artagnan, whose +brain was going round with bewilderment, and who clung to the door as +his last hope. + +"To me, musketeer! Look us both in the face, and see which is the +paler, he or I." + +The cry awoke D'Artagnan from his stupor, and struck the chord of +obedience strong in the bosom of every soldier. He lifted his head, +and striding straight up to Philippe laid his hand on his shoulder, +saying quietly:-- + +"Monsieur, you are my prisoner." + +Philippe remained absolutely still, as if nailed to the floor, his +eyes fixed despairingly on the King who was his brother. His silence +reproached him as no words could have done, with the bitterness of the +past and the tortures of the future. + +And the King understood, and his soul sank within him. His eyes fell, +and drawing his brother and sister-in-law with him, he hastily quitted +the room; forgetting in his agitation even his mother, lying +motionless on the couch beside him, not three paces from the son whom +for the second time she was allowing to be condemned to a death in +life. + +Philippe drew near to her, and said softly:-- + +"If you had not been my mother, madame, I must have cursed you for the +misery you have caused me." + +D'Artagnan overheard, and a shiver of pity passed through him. He +bowed respectfully to the young prince, and said:-- + +"Forgive me, monseigneur; I am only a soldier, and my faith is due to +him who has left us." + +"Thank you, M. D'Artagnan. But what has become of M. D'Herblay?" + +"M. D'Herblay is safe, monseigneur," answered a voice behind them; +"and while I am alive and free, not a hair of his head shall be hurt." + +"M. Fouquet!" said the prince, smiling sadly. + +"Forgive me, monseigneur," cried Fouquet, falling on his knees; "but +he who has left the room was my guest." + +"Ah!" murmured Philippe to himself with a sigh, "you are loyal friends +and true hearts. You make me regret the world I am leaving. M. +D'Artagnan, I will follow you." + +As he spoke, Colbert entered and handed to the captain of the +musketeers an order from the King; then bowed, and went out. + +D'Artagnan glanced at the paper, and in a sudden burst of wrath +crumpled it in his hand. + +"What is the matter?" asked the prince. + +"Read it, monseigneur," answered the musketeer. + +And Philippe read these words, written hastily by the King himself:-- + +"M. D'Artagnan will conduct the prisoner to the Îles +Sainte-Marguerite. He will see that his face is covered with an iron +mask, which must never be lifted on pain of death." + +"It is just," said Philippe; "I am ready." + +"Aramis was right," whispered Fouquet to D'Artagnan, "this is as good +a king as the other." + +"Better," replied D'Artagnan; "he only needed you and me." + + + +A TRICK IS PLAYED ON HENRY III. BY AID OF CHICOT + +From 'The Lady of Monsoreau' + + +The King and Chicot remained quiet and silent for the next ten +minutes. Then suddenly the King sat up, and the noise he made roused +Chicot, who was just dropping off to sleep. + +The two looked at each other with sparkling eyes. + +"What is it?" asked Chicot in a low voice. + +"Do you hear that sighing sound?" replied the King in a lower voice +still. "Listen!" + +As he spoke, one of the wax candles in the hand of the golden satyr +went out; then a second, then a third. After a moment, the fourth went +out also. + +"Oh, oh!" cried Chicot, "that is more than a sighing sound." But he +had hardly uttered the last word when in its turn the lamp was +extinguished, and the room was in darkness, save for the flickering +glow of the dying embers. + +"Look out!" exclaimed Chicot, jumping up. + +"He is going to speak," said the King, shrinking back into his bed. + +"Then listen and let us hear what he says," replied Chicot, and at the +same instant a voice which sounded at once both piercing and hollow, +proceeded from the space between the bed and the wall. + +"Hardened sinner, are you there?" + +"Yes, yes, Lord." gasped Henri with chattering teeth. + +"Dear me!" remarked Chicot, "that is a very hoarse voice to have come +from heaven! I feel dreadfully frightened; but never mind!" + +"Do you hear me?" asked the voice. + +"Yes, Lord," stammered Henri; "and I bow before your anger." + +"Do you think you are carrying out my will by performing all the +mummeries you have taken part in to-day, while your heart is full of +the things of this world?" + +"Well said!" cried Chicot; "you touched him there!" + +The King's hands shook as he clasped them, and Chicot went up to him. + +"Well," murmured Henri, "are you convinced now?" + +"Wait a bit," answered Chicot. + +"What do you want more?" + +"Hush! listen to me. Creep softly out of bed, and let me take your +place." + +"Why?" + +"Because then the anger of the Lord will fall first upon me." + +"And do you think I shall escape?" + +"We will try, anyway;" and with affectionate persistence he pushed the +King out of bed, and took his place. + +"Now, Henri," he said, "go and lie on my sofa, and leave all to me." + +Henri obeyed; he began to understand Chicot's plan. + +"You are silent," continued the voice, "which proves that your heart +is hardened." + +"Oh, pardon, pardon, Lord!" exclaimed Chicot, imitating the King's +nasal twang. Then, stretching himself out of bed, he whispered to the +King, "It is very odd, but the heavenly voice does not seem to know +that it is Chicot who is speaking." + +"Oh!" replied Henri, "what do you suppose is the meaning of that?" + +"Don't be in a hurry; plenty of strange things will happen yet!" + +"Miserable creature that you are!" went on the voice. + +"Yes, Lord, yes!" answered Chicot. "I am a horrible sinner, hardened +in crime." + +"Then confess your sins, and repent." + +"I acknowledge," said Chicot, "that I dealt wickedly by my cousin +Condé, whose wife I betrayed; and I repent bitterly." + +"What is that you are saying?" cried the King. "There is no good in +mentioning that. It has all been forgotten long ago." + +"Oh, has it?" replied Chicot; "then we will pass on to something +else." + +"Answer," said the voice. + +"I acknowledge," said the false Henri, "that I behaved like a thief +toward the Poles, who had elected me their king, in stealing away to +France one fine night, carrying with me all the crown jewels; and I +repent bitterly." + +"Idiot!" exclaimed Henri, "what are you talking about now? Nobody +remembers anything about that." + +"Let me alone," answered Chicot, "I must go on pretending to be the +King." + +"Speak," said the voice. + +"I acknowledge," continued Chicot, "that I snatched the throne from my +brother D'Alençon, who was the rightful heir, since I had formally +renounced my claims when I was elected King of Poland; I repent +bitterly." + +"Rascal!" cried the King. + +"There is yet something more," said the voice. + +"I acknowledge to have plotted with my excellent mother, Catherine de' +Medicis, to hunt from France my brother-in-law the King of Navarre, +after first destroying all his friends, and my sister Queen +Marguerite, after first destroying all her lovers; and I repent +bitterly." + +"Scoundrel! Cease!" muttered the King, his teeth clenched in anger. + +"Sire, it is no use trying to hide what Providence knows as well as we +do." + +"There is a crime unconfessed that has nothing to do with politics," +said the voice. + +"Ah, now we are getting to it," observed Chicot dolefully; "it is +about my conduct, I suppose?" + +"It is," answered the voice. + +"I cannot deny," continued Chicot, always speaking in the name of the +King, "that I am very effeminate, very lazy; a hopeless trifler, an +incorrigible hypocrite." + +"It is true," said the voice. + +"I have behaved ill to all women, to my own wife in particular; and +such a good wife too." + +"A man should love his wife as himself, and above all the world," +cried the voice angrily. + +"Oh dear!" wailed Chicot in despairing tones; "then I certainly have +sinned terribly." + +"And by your example you have caused others to sin." + +"That is true, sadly true." + +"You very nearly sent that poor Saint-Luc to perdition." + +"Bah!" said Chicot, "are you sure I did not send him there quite?" + +"No; but such a fate may befall both of you if you do not let him go +back to his family at break of day." + +"Dear me!" said Chicot to the King, "the voice seems to take a great +interest in the house of Cossé." + +"If you disobey me, you will suffer the same torments as Sardanapalus, +Nabuchodnosor, and the Marshal De Retz." + +Henry III. gave a loud groan; at this threat he became more frightened +than ever. + +"I am lost," he ejaculated wildly; "I am lost. That voice from on high +will be my death-warrant." + + + + +ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR + +(1824-1895) + +BY FRANCISQUE SARCEY + + +We shall not say much about the life of Alexandre Dumas the younger. +The history of a great writer is the history of his works. He was born +in Paris, on July 27th, 1824. His name on the register of births +appears as "Alexandre, son of Marie Catherine Lebay, seamstress." He +was not acknowledged by his father until he had reached his sixth +year, March 7th, 1830. I emphasize this particular because it had +great influence on the bent of his genius. During all his life Dumas +was haunted by a desire of rehabilitating illegitimate children, of +creating a reaction against their treatment by the Civil Code and the +prejudice which makes of them something little better than outcasts in +society. + +"When seven years old," he himself says, "I entered as a boarder the +school of Monsieur Vauthier, on Rue Montagne Saint-Geneviève. Thence I +passed, about two years later, to the Saint-Victor School; the +principal was Monsieur Goubaux, a friend of my father, with whom he +collaborated under the _nom de plume_ of Dinaux. This school, which +numbered two hundred and fifty boarding pupils, and with the rather +strange habits which I tried to depict in 'The Clémenceau Case,' +occupied all the ground covered to-day by the Casino de Paris and the +'Pôle-Nord' establishment. When about fifteen I left the Saint-Victor +School for Monsieur Hénon's school, which was situated in the Rue de +Courcelles and has now disappeared. It is in the Collêge Bourbon (now +the Lycée Condorcet) that I received all my instruction, as the pupils +of the two schools where I lived attended the college classes. I never +belonged to any of the higher State schools,--I have not even the +degree of bachelor." + +At the end of his years of study he returned to his father. He did not +stay there more than six months. The rather tumultuous life which he +saw in the house disturbed his proud mind, already filled with serious +yearnings. + +"You have debts," his father said to him. "Do as I do: work, and you +will pay them." + +Such was indeed the young man's intention. His first work was a +one-act play in verse, 'The Queen's Jewel,' which no one, assuredly, +would mention to-day but for his signature. The date was 1845, and the +author was then twenty-one. Other works by him were published at +various times in the Journal des Demoiselles. + +"I was," he has said, "the careless, lazy, and spoilt child of all my +father's friends. I believed in the eternity of youth, of strength, of +joy. I spent the whole day laughing, the whole night sleeping, unless +I had some reason for writing verses." + +About 1846 he set resolutely to work. He turned to novel-writing, +which seemed to him to offer greater facilities for reaching the +public and greater chances of immediate income than dramatic +composition. Only two of his novels have survived: 'La Dame aux +Camélias' ('Camille': 1848), because from this book came the immortal +drama by the same title; and 'The Clémenceau Case,' because the author +wrote it when he was in complete possession of his talent, and because +moreover it is a first-rate work. + +It was in 1852 that the Vaudeville Theatre gave the first performance +of 'Camille,' the fortune of which was to be so extraordinary. For two +or three years the play had been tossed from theatre to theatre. +Nobody wanted it. To the ideas of the time it seemed simply shocking, +and the play was still forbidden in London after its performances in +France were numbered by the hundreds. + +There is this special trait in 'Camille'--it was a work all instinct +with the spirit of youth. Dumas twenty years later sadly said: "I +might perhaps make another 'Demi-Monde'; I could not make another +'Camille.'" There existed, indeed, other works which have all the +fire and charm of the twentieth year. 'Polyeucte' is Corneille's +masterpiece; his 'Cid' breathes the spirit of youth: Corneille at +forty could not have written the 'Cid.' Racine's first play is +'Andromaque': Beaumarchais's is the 'Barber of Seville'; Rossini, when +young, enlivened it with his light and sparkling airs. Fifteen years +later he himself wrote his 'William Tell,' a higher work, but a work +which was not young. + +[Illustration: ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JUNIOR.] + +If the theatrical managers had recoiled from 'Camille' in spite of the +great names that recommended it, it is because it was cut after a +pattern to which neither they nor the public were accustomed; it is +because it contained the germ of a whole dramatic revolution. Now, the +author was not a theatrical revolutionist. He had not said to himself, +"I am going to throw down the old fabric of the drama, and erect a new +one on its ruins." To tell the truth, he had no idea of what he was +doing. He had witnessed a love drama. He had thrown it still throbbing +upon the stage, without any regard for the dramatic conventions which +were then imposed upon playwrights, and which were almost accepted as +laws. He had simply depicted what he had seen. All the managers, +attached as they were to the old customs, and respectful of the +traditions, had trembled with horror when they saw moving around +Camille the ignoble Prudence, the idiotic Due de Varville, the silly +Saint-Gaudens. But the public--though the fact was suspected neither +by them nor by the public itself--yearned for more truth upon the +boards. When 'Camille' was presented to them, the play-goers uttered a +cry of astonishment and joy: that was the thing! that was just what +they wanted! From that day, which will remain as a date in the history +of the French stage, the part of Camille has been performed by all the +celebrated actresses. The part has two sides: one may see in it a +degraded woman who has fallen profoundly in love, rather late in life; +one may also see in it a woman, already poetical in her own nature, +suddenly carried away by a great passion into the sacred regions of +the Ideal. + +Almost any young man in Dumas's place would have lost his head after +so astounding a success, and might not have resisted the temptation of +at once working out the vein. For on coming out of the theatre after +the first performance, the author had all the managers at his feet, +and the smallest trifle was sure to be accepted if it only had his +signature. But he had learned, by the side of "a prodigal father," the +art of husbanding his talent. He declined to front the footlights +again, save with a work upon which he had been able to bestow all the +care and labor it deserved: he waited a year before he gave, at the +Gymnase theatre, 'Diane de Lys.' + +'Diane de Lys' undoubtedly pleased the public, but its success was not +exactly brilliant. It is full of great qualities, it is strongly +conceived, constructed with rare power and logic, but it added nothing +to his reputation. The play as a whole seemed long and melancholy. It +is a curious subject for critical study, as one of the stages in which +the genius of the author stopped awhile, on its way to higher works. +It will leave no great trace in his career. + +Two years later he gave at the Gymnase theatre--I do not dare to say +his masterpiece, but certainly the best constructed and most enjoyable +play he ever wrote, 'Le Demi-Monde' (The Other Half-World). In this +play he discovered and defined the very peculiar world of those women +who live on the margin of regular "society," and try to preserve its +tone and demeanor. What scientific and strong construction are here! +What an admirable disposition of the scenes, both flexible and +logical! And through the action, which moves on with wonderful +straightforwardness and breadth, how many portraits, drawn with a +steady hand, each one bearing such distinctive features that you would +know them if you met them on the street! Olivier de Jalin, the refined +Parisian, the dialectician of the play, who is no other than Dumas +himself; Raymond de Nanjac, handsome and honest, but not keen or +Parisian; and that giddy Valentine de Sanctis, whose head turns with +the wind, whose tongue cannot rest one moment; and especially Suzanne +d'Ange, so witty, so complex, so devious in her motions, so +_roublarde_, as a Parisian of to-day would say. + +Between 'The Demi-Monde,' and 'La Question d'Argent' (The Money +Question), which followed, Dumas spent two years at work. 'La Question +d'Argent' is a favorite play with the connoisseurs; but its reception +by the public was of the coldest. It is a noteworthy fact that plays +turning upon money have never been successful. Le Sage's 'Turcaret' is +a dramatic masterpiece: it never had the luck to please the crowd. +Dumas's Jean Giraud is, however, a very curiously studied character. +The author has represented in him the commonest type of the shady +money-man, the unconscious rascal. And very skillfully he made an +individual out of that general type, by giving to Jean Giraud a +certain rough good-nature; the appearance of a good fellow, with a +certain degree of fineness; a mixture of humility and self-conceit, of +awkwardness and impudence, and even some ideas as to the power of +money that do not lack dignity, and some real liberality of sentiment +and act,--for wealth alone, though acquired by ignominious means, +suggests and dictates to the great robbers some advantageous movements +which the small rascal cannot indulge in: and around this Turcaret of +the Second Empire how many pictures of honest people, every one of +whom, in his or her way, is good and fine! + +One year later Dumas carried to the Gymnase, his favorite theatre, 'Le +Fils Naturel' (The Natural Son); and the next year 'Un Père Prodigue' +(A Prodigal Father; known also in English through a free adaptation as +'My Awful Dad'). + +In 'Le Fils Naturel' Dumas for the first time wrote a theme-play, a +kind of work in which he was to become a master. Hitherto we have seen +him drawing pictures of manners. To be sure, philosophical +considerations on the period depicted are not wanting, but the play +has not the form and does not assume the movement of a thesis. It does +not take up one special trait of our social order, one of our worldly +prejudices, in order to show its strong and weak sides. 'Le Fils +Naturel' is the work of a moralist as well as of a playwright; or +rather, it is the work of a playwright who was a born moralist. + +'Un Père Prodigue' originally excited great curiosity. It escaped no +one that in his Count Fernand de la Rivonnière, Dumas had shown us +some traits of his illustrious father, who _had_ been a prodigal +father; and that he had depicted himself in Viscount André. Every one +made comparisons; some, of course, accused the author of filial +disrespect. The accusation was ridiculous, and he did not even answer +it. He had so well disguised the persons, he had transported them into +such different surroundings, that no one could recognize in them +their true prototypes. Then--and this is no small praise--if Count de +la Rivonnière is guilty of one fault, that of throwing to the wind his +fortune, he is a most amiable nobleman, full of broad ideas and +generous sentiments,--has a warm heart. The fourth act, in which the +father sacrifices himself in order to save his son's life, is pathetic +in the extreme. But nothing equals the first act, which is a model of +animated and picturesque composition. No one ever painted in more +vivid colors the pillage of a household, and a family without so much +as a shadow of discipline. It is an accumulation of small details, not +one of which is of an indifferent nature, and which, taken together, +drive into our minds the idea that this nobleman, so well-mannered, so +charming in conversation, so sober for himself, is running to ruin as +gayly as he can. + +For four years after the production of 'Un Père Prodigue' Dumas wrote +nothing. But in 1864 he reappeared at the Gymnase with a strange play, +'L'Ami des Femmes' (A Friend of the Sex), which completely failed. +After 'L'Ami des Femmes' there was another interruption, not of +Dumas's labors but of his dramatic production. Perhaps he was sick of +an art which had caused him a cruel disappointment. He turned again to +novel-writing, and published (1866) 'L'Affaire Clémenceau' (The +Clémenceau Case), the success of which was not as great as he had +hoped. In France, when a man is superior in one specialty people will +not let him leave it. He is not allowed to be at once an unequaled +novelist and a first-rate dramatist. + +At that time Dumas hesitated which road to follow. An incident which +created a great deal of comment threw him back towards the stage, and +towards a new form of comedy. + +M. Émile de Girardin, one of the best known publicists of the Second +Empire, had bethought himself, when over fifty years of age, and +knowing nothing of this kind of work, to write a play. He had been a +great friend of Dumas père, and had kept up the most affectionate +intercourse with his son. He had asked him to fit his play for the +stage. It possessed one really dramatic idea. Dumas, in order to +oblige his father's friend, made out of it 'Le Supplice d'une Femme' +(A Woman's Torture). Émile de Girardin, who was self-conceited and +somewhat despotic, refused to recognize his offspring in the bear that +Dumas had licked. He declined to sign the play: "Neither shall I," +Dumas retorted. + +'A Woman's Torture' was acted at the Comédie Française with +extraordinary success. This success was for Dumas a warning and a +lesson. 'A Woman's Torture' was a three-act play, short, concise, +panting, which hurried to the _coup de théâtre_ of the second act, +upon which the drama revolved, and rushed to its conclusion. The time +of five-act comedies, with ample expositions, copious developments, +philosophical disquisitions, curious and fanciful episodes, was gone. +Henceforth the dramatist had to deal with a hurried and _blasé_ +public, which, taking dinner at eight, could give to the theatre but a +short time, and an attention disturbed by the labor of digestion. 'A +Woman's Torture,' which lasted only an hour and a half, and proceeded +only by rapid strokes, was exactly what that public wanted. After that +time Dumas wrote only three-act and one-act plays; using four acts +only for 'Les Idées de Madame Aubray' (Madame Aubray's Ideas); and +these four acts are very short. In 1867 this play announced Dumas's +return to the stage; and Dumas is here more paradoxical than he had +ever been. His theme looked like a wager not simply against bourgeois +prejudices, but even against good sense, and, I dare to say, against +justice. This wager was won by Dumas, thanks to an incredible display +of skill. He took up the thesis a second time in 'Denise,' and won his +wager again, but with less difficulty. In 'Denise' the lover struggles +only against social prejudices, and allows himself to be carried away +by one of those emotional fits which disturb and confound human +reason. In 'Madame Aubray's Ideas' the triumph is one of pure logic. + +'Une Visite de Noces' (A Wedding Call) and 'La Princesse Georges' +followed rather closely on 'Madame Aubray's Ideas.' 'A Wedding +Call'!--what a thunderbolt then! It was of but one act, _but_ one act +the effect of which was prodigious, the echo of which is still heard. +Time and familiarity have now softened for us the too sharp outlines +of this bitter play. It has been acknowledged a masterpiece. It is +certainly one of the boldest works of this extraordinary magician, +who, thanks to his unerring skill and to the dazzling wit of his +dialogue, brought the public to listen to whatever he chose to put +upon the stage. It seemed that, like a lion tamer in the arena, Dumas +took pleasure in belaboring and exasperating this many-headed monster, +in order to prove to his own satisfaction that he could subdue its +revolts. + +'La Princesse Georges' is a work of violent and furious passion. We +find in it Madame de Terremonde, the good woman who adores her +husband, but who adores him with fury, who wants him all to herself, +and who, when sure that she is betrayed, passes from the most +exasperated rage to tears and despair. There is in the first act a +scene of exposition which has become celebrated. No one ever so +rapidly mastered the public; no one ever from the first stroke so +painfully twisted the heart of the spectators. + +Let us pass rapidly over 'La Femme de Claude' (Claude's Wife: 1873). +Of all his plays it is the one Dumas said he liked best, the one he +most passionately defended with all sorts of commentaries, letters, +prefaces, etc.; the one which he insisted on having revived, a long +time after it had failed. To my mind that play was a mistake; and the +public, in spite of Dumas's arguments, in spite of the protests of the +critics, who are often very glad to distinguish themselves by not +yielding to the common voice,--the public insisted on agreeing with +me. + +Only a few months later, Dumas brilliantly retrieved himself with +'Monsieur Alphonse.' His Madame Guichard is the most cheerfully vulgar +type of the _parvenue_ which any one ever dared to put upon the stage. +She can hardly read and write; she is no longer young, and she is "to +boot" very proud of her money; she has no tact and no taste; but at +heart she is a good sort of woman. Her morality is as primitive as her +education. But deceit disgusts her; she hates but one thing, she +says,--lying. She is not troubled by conventionalities; and her speech +has all the color and energy of popular speech. But see! Dumas in +depicting this woman preserved exquisite measure. Madame Guichard says +many pert and droll things; she never utters a coarse word. Her +language is picturesque; it is free from slang. Hers is a vulgar +nature, but she does not offend delicate ears by the grossness of her +utterance. Dumas never drew a more living picture; she is the joy of +this rather sad play. + +All that remain to be reviewed are 'L'Étrangère,' 'La Princesse de +Bagdad,' and 'Françillon'; all of which were given at the Comédie +Française. 'L'Étrangère' is indeed a melodrama, with an admixture of +comedy. Had he gone further in that direction, Dumas might have made a +new sort of play, which would perhaps have reigned a long time on the +stage. But after this trial, successful though it was, he stopped. 'La +Princesse de Bagdad' entirely failed. 'Françillon' was Dumas's last +success at the Comédie Française. + +After 1887 Dumas gave nothing to the stage. He had completed a great +five-act play, 'The Road to Thebes,' which the manager of the Comédie +Française hoped every year to put on the boards. Dumas kept promising +it; but either from distrust of himself or of the public, or from +fatigue, or fear of meeting with failure, he asked for new delays, +until the day when he declared that not only the play would not be +acted during his life, but that he would not even allow it to be acted +after his death. + +This death he saw coming, with sad but calm eyes. It was a sorrow for +us to see this man, whom we had known so quick and alert, grow weaker +every day, showing the progress of disease in his shriveled features +and body. The complexion had lost all color, the cheeks had become +flaccid, the eye had no life left. + +On October 1st, 1895, he wrote to his friend Jules Claretie:--"Do not +depend upon me any more; I am vanquished. There are moments when I +mourn my loss, as Madame D'Houdetot said when dying." He was at Puys, +by the seaside, when he wrote that despairing letter. He returned to +Marly, there to die, surrounded by his family, on November 28th, 1895, +in a house which he loved and which had been bequeathed to him years +before by an intimate friend. + +His loss threw into mourning the world of letters, and the whole of +Paris. People discovered then--for death loosens every tongue and +every pen--how kind and generous in reality was Dumas, who had often +been accused of avarice by those who contrasted him with his father; +how many services he had discreetly rendered, how open his hand always +was. His constant cheerfulness and good-nature had finally caused him +to be forgiven for his wit, which was sarcastic and cutting, and for +his success, which had thrown so many rivals into the shade. This +witty man, who was always obliging and even tender-hearted, had no +envy, and gave his applause without a shadow of reserve to the +successes of others. Every young author found in him advice and +support; he did not expect gratitude, and therefore was soured by no +disappointment. He was a good man, partly from nature, partly from +determination; for he deemed that, after all, the best way to live +happy in this world is to make happy as many people as possible. + +If in this long essay I have not spoken of Dumas as a moralist, it is +because, in my opinion, in spite of all that has been said, Dumas was +a dramatist a great deal more than a philosopher. In his comedies he +discussed a great many moral and social questions, without giving a +solution for any; or rather, the solutions that he gave were due not +to any set of fixed principles, but to the conclusion which he was +preparing for this play or that. He said, indifferently, "Kill her" or +"Forgive her," according to the requirements of the subject which he +had selected; and he would afterwards write a sensational preface with +a view to demonstrate that the solution this time given by him was the +only legitimate one. These prefaces are very amusing reading; for he +wrote them with all the fire of his nature, and he had the gift of +movement. But they were a strange medley of incongruous and +contradictory statements. Every idea that he expresses can be grasped +and understood; but it is impossible to see how it agrees with those +that precede and follow. It is a chaos of clear ideas. + +Dumas was not a philosopher, but an agitator. He stirred up a great +many questions; he drew upon them our distracted attention; he +compelled us to think of them. Therein he did his duty as a dramatist. + +He gave much thought to the fate of woman in our civilization. We may +say, however, that though loving her much, he still more feared her, +and I shall even add, despised her. All his characters who have the +mission of defending morality and good sense are very attentive to +her, but keep her at arm's-length. They are affectionate counselors, +not lovers. They hold her to be a frail being, who must be controlled +and guided. Some one has said that there was in Dumas something of the +Catholic priest. It is true. He was to women a lay director of +conscience. + +He was a great connoisseur of pictures and a great art lover. Music, I +think, is the only art that did not affect him much. He was a dazzling +talker; his plays teem with bright sayings; his conversation sparkled +with them. I did not know him in his prime, when he delighted his +friends and companions by his unceasing flow of spirits. I became +intimate with him only later. If you knew how to start him, he simply +coruscated. I never knew any one, save Edmond About, who was as witty, +and who, like About, always paid you back in good sounding coin. + +Dumas was a member of the French Academy. He had not wished for that +honor, because it had been denied to his father. He desired, in his +reception speech, to call up the great spirit of this illustrious +father and make it share his academician's chair. He had this joy; the +two Dumas were received on the same day. Their two names will never +perish. + +[Illustration: Signature (Francisque Sarcey)] + +[The editors have been compelled, for lack of space, to leave out that +part of M. Sarcey's valuable essay which is a professional analysis of +several of Dumas's plays, and which would be of interest, chiefly, to +special students of the French drama and stage.] + + + +THE PLAYWRIGHT IS BORN--AND MADE + +From the Preface to 'A Prodigal Father' + + +Of all the various forms of thought, the stage is that which nearest +approaches the plastic arts--inasmuch as we cannot work in it unless +we know its material processes; but with this difference: that in the +other arts one learns these processes, while in play-writing one +guesses them; or to speak more accurately, they are in us to begin +with. + +One can become a painter, a sculptor, a musician, by sheer study: one +does not become a dramatic author in this fashion. A caprice of +nature makes your eye in such a way that you can see a thing after a +particular manner, not absolutely correct, but which must nevertheless +appear, to any other persons that you wish to have so think, the only +correct point of view. The man really called to write for the stage +reveals what is an extremely rare faculty, in his very first +attempts,--say in a farce in school, or a drawing-room charade. There +is a sort of science of optics and of perspective that enables one to +draw a personage, a character, a passion, an impulse of the soul, with +a single stroke of the pen. Dramatic _cheating of the eye_ is so +complete that often the spectator, when he is a mere reader of the +play, desiring to give himself once more the same emotion that he has +felt as one of the audience, not only cannot recapture that emotion in +the written words before him, but often cannot even distinguish the +passage where the emotion lies hid. It was a word, a look, a silence, +a gesture, a purely atmospheric combination, that held him spellbound. +So comes in the genius of the playwright's trade, if those two words +can be associated. One may compare writing for the stage in relation +to other phases of literature, as we compare ceiling painters with +[painters of] pictures for the wall or the easel. Woe to the painter +if he forget that his composition is to be looked at from a distance, +with a light below it! + +A man without merit as a thinker, a moralist, a philosopher, an +author, may turn out to be a dramatic author of the first class; that +is to say, in the work of setting in motion before you the purely +external movements of mankind; and on the other hand, to become in the +theatre the thinker, the moralist, the philosopher, or the author to +whom one listens, one must indispensably be furnished with the +particular and natural qualities of a man of much lower grade. In +short, to be a master in the art of writing for the stage, you must be +a poor hand in the superior art.... + +That dramatic author who shall know mankind like Balzac, and who shall +know the theatre like Scribe, will be the greatest dramatic author +that has ever existed. + + Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature,' + by E. Irenæus Stevenson + + + +AN ARMED TRUCE + +From 'A Friend of the Sex' + + + [The following conversation in the first act of the play + takes place in the pleasant morning-room of a country-house + near Paris, the home of M. and Madame Leverdet. M. Leverdet + is asleep in his chair. The speakers are Madame Leverdet, a + coquettish, sprightly lady approaching middle age, and young + M. De Ryons, a friend and neighbor. Madame Leverdet is + determined to marry off De Ryons advantageously, and as soon + as possible. Unfortunately he is a confirmed bachelor, not to + say woman-hater, whose cynicism is the result of severely + disappointing experiences. Under that cynicism there is + however genuine respect and even chivalry as to the right + sort of woman,--the superior and sincere type, which he does + not happen often to encounter.] + +_Madame Leverdet_--Let us come to serious topics while we are alone, +my friend. + +_De Ryons_--And apropos of them? + +_Madame Leverdet_--Are you willing to be married off yet? + +_De Ryons_ [_with a start of terror_]--Pardon me, my dear lady! At +what hour can I take the first train for Paris? + +_Madame Leverdet_--Now listen to me, at least. + +_De Ryons_--What! Here it is two years since I have called on you; I +come to make you a little visit of a morning, in all good friendship, +with the thermometer forty, centigrade; I am totally unsuspecting; all +I ask is to have a little lively chat with a clever woman--and see how +you receive me. + +_Madame Leverdet_ [_continuing_]--A simple, charming young girl-- + +_De Ryons_ [_interrupting her, and in the same tone_]-- --musical, +speaks English, draws nicely, sings agreeably, a society woman, a +domestic woman,--all at the choice of the applicant. + +_Madame Leverdet_ [_laughing_]--Yes, and pretty and graceful and rich; +and, by-the-by, one who finds you a charming fellow. + +_De Ryons_--She is quite right there. I shall make a charming +husband--I shall; I know it. Only thirty-two years old; all my teeth, +all my hair (no such very common detail, the way young men are +nowadays); lively, sixty thousand livres income as a landed +proprietor--oh, I am an excellent match: only unfortunately I am not a +marrying man. + +_Madame Leverdet_--And why not, if you please? + +_De Ryons_ [_smiling_]--It would interfere severely with my studies. + +_Madame Leverdet_--What sort of studies? + +_De Ryons_--My studies of--woman. + +_Madame Leverdet_--Really! I don't understand you. + +_De Ryons_--What! Do you not know that I am making women my +particular, my incessant study, and that I am reckoning on leaving +some new and very interesting documents dealing with that branch of +natural history?--a branch very little understood just at present, in +spite of all that has been written on the topic. My friend, I cannot +sacrifice the species to the individual; I belong to science. It is +quite impossible for me to give myself wholly and completely--as one +certainly should do when he marries--to one of those charming and +terrible little carnivora for whose sake men dishonor themselves, ruin +themselves, kill themselves; whose sole preoccupation, in the midst of +the universal carnage that they make, is to dress themselves now like +umbrellas and now like table bells. + +_Madame Leverdet_ [_scornfully_]--So you really think you understand +women, do you? + +_De Ryons_--I rather think I do. Why, just as you see me this instant, +at the end of five minutes' study or conversation I can tell you to +what class a woman belongs,--whether to the middle class, to women of +rank, artists, or whatever you please; what are her tastes, her +characteristics, her antecedents, the state of her heart,--in a word, +everything that concerns my special science. + +_Madame Leverdet_--Really! Will you have a glass of water? + +_De Ryons_--Not yet, thank you. + +_Madame Leverdet_--I suppose, then, you are under the impression that +you know me too. + +_De Ryons_--As if I did not! + +_Madame Leverdet_--Well, and I am--what? + +_De Ryons_--Oh, you are a clever woman. It is for that reason that I +call on you [_aside:_ every two years]. + +_Madame Leverdet_--Will you kindly give me the sum of your +observations in general? You can tell me so much, since I am a clever +woman. + +_De Ryons_--The true, the true, the true sum? + +_Madame Leverdet_--Yes. + +_De Ryons_--Simply that woman of our day is an illogical, subordinate, +and mischief-making creature. [_In saying this De Ryons draws back and +crouches down as if expecting to be struck._] + +_Madame Leverdet_--So then, you detest women? + +_De Ryons_--I? I detest women? On the contrary, I adore them; but I +hold myself in such a position toward them that they cannot bite me. I +keep on the outside of the cage. + +_Madame Leverdet_--Meaning by that--what? + +_De Ryons_--Meaning by that, that I am a friend of the sex; for I have +long perceived that just as truly as women are dangerous in love, just +so much are they adorable in friendship, with men;--that is to say, +with no obligations, and therefore no treasons; no rights, and in +consequence no tyrannies. One assists, too, as a spectator, often as a +collaborator, in the comedy of love. A man under such conditions sees +before his nose the stage tricks, the machinery, the changes of +scenes, all that stage mounting so dazzling at a distance and so +simple when one is near by. As a friend of the sex and on a basis of +friendship, one estimates the causes, the contradictions, the +incoherences, of that phantasmagoric changeableness that belongs to +the heart of a woman. So you have something that is interesting and +instructive. Under such circumstances a man is the consoler, and gives +his advice; he wipes away tears; he brings quarrelsome lovers +together; he asks for the letters that must be returned; he hands back +the photographs (for you know that in love affairs photographs are +taken only in order to be returned, and it is nearly always the same +photograph that serves as many times as may be necessary. I know one +photograph that I have had handed back by three different men, and it +ended its usefulness by being given for good and all to a fourth one, +who was--not single).... In short, you see, my dear madam, I am above +all the friend of those women--who have known what it is to be in +love. And moreover inasmuch, just as Rochefoucauld says, as women do +not think a great deal of their first experience,--why, one fine day +or another-- + +_Madame Leverdet_--You prove to be the second one. + +_De Ryons_--No, no; I have no number, I! A well-brought-up woman never +goes from one experience of the heart to another one, without a decent +interval of time, more or less long. Two railroad accidents never come +together on the same railway. During the _intervals_ a woman really +needs a friend, a good confidant; and it is then that I turn up. I let +her tell me all the melancholy affairs in question; I see the unhappy +victim in tears after the traitor has called; I lament with her, I +weep with her, I make her laugh with me: and little by little I +replace the delinquent without her seeing that I am doing so. But then +I know very well that I am without importance, that I am a mere +politician of the moment, a cabinet minister without a portfolio, a +sentimental distraction without any consequences; and some fine day, +after having been the confidential friend as to past events, I become +the confidential friend as to future ones,--for the lady falls in love +for the second time with somebody who knows nothing of the first +experience, who will never know anything about it, and who of course +must be made to suppose he represents the first one. Then I go away +for a little time and leave them to themselves, and then I come back +like a new friend to the family. By-and-by, when the dear creature is +reckoning up the balance-sheet of her past, when her conscience pours +into her ear the names that she would rather not remember, and my name +comes with the others, she reflects an instant,--and then she says +resolutely and sincerely to herself, "Oh, _he_ does not count!" My +friend, I am always the one that does not count, and I like it +extremely. + +_Madame Leverdet_ [_indignantly_]--You are simply a monster! + +_De Ryons_--Oh no, oh no, oh no, I am not! + +_Madame Leverdet_--According to your own account, you have no faith in +women.... Wretch! Ungrateful creature! And yet it is woman who +inspires all the great things in this life. + +_De Ryons_--But somehow forbids us to accomplish them. + +_Madame Leverdet_--Go out from here, my dear De Ryons, and never let +me see you again. + +_De Ryons_ [_rising promptly and making a mocking bow_]--My dear +lady-- + +_Madame Leverdet_--No, I will _not_ shake hands with you. + +_De Ryons_--Then I shall die of chagrin--that's all about it. + +_Madame Leverdet_--Do you know how you will end, you incorrigible +creature? When you are fifty years old you will have rheumatism. + +_De Ryons_--Yes, or sciatica. But I shall find some one who will +embroider me warm slippers. + +_Madame Leverdet_--Indeed you will not! You will marry your cook. + +_De Ryons_--That depends on how well she cooks. Again farewell, dear +madam. + +_Madame Leverdet_--No, stay one moment. + +_De Ryons_--It is you who are keeping me; so look out. + +_Madame Leverdet_--Let me have really your last word on the whole +matter. + +_De Ryons_--It is very easily given. There are just two kinds of +women: those who are good women, and those who are not. + +_Madame Leverdet_--Without fine distinctions? + +_De Ryons_--Without fine distinctions. + +_Madame Leverdet_--What is one to do in the case of those who are +not--good women? + +_De Ryons_--They must be consoled. + +_Madame Leverdet_--And those who are? + +_De Ryons_--They must be guaranteed against being anything else; and +as to that process of guarantee I have taken a patent. + +_Madame Leverdet_--Come now, if you are playing in parlor theatricals, +say so. What are you trying to be,--Lovelace or Don Quixote? + +_De Ryons_--I am neither the one nor the other. I am a man who, having +nothing else to do, took to studying women just as another man studies +beetles and minerals, only I am under the impression that my +scientific study is more interesting and more useful than that of the +other savant--because we meet your sex everywhere. We meet the mother, +the sister, the daughter, the wife, the woman who is in love; and it +is important to be well informed upon such an eternal associate in +our lives. Now I am a man of my time, exercised over one theory +or another, hardly knowing what he must believe, good or bad, but +inclined to believe in good when occasion presents itself. I respect +women who respect themselves.... It is not I who created the world; I +take it as I find it.... And as to marriage, the day when I shall find +a young girl with the four qualities of goodness of heart, sound +health, thorough self-respect, and cheerfulness,--the squaring of the +conjugal hypothenuse,--then I count for nothing all my long term of +waiting; like the great Doctor Faust, I become young again, and such +as I am, I give myself to her. My friend, if this same young girl of +whom you have been speaking (and by the way, I know her just as well +as you do) really unites these conditions,--I do not believe she does +so, though I shall see very soon,--why then, I will marry her +to-morrow--I will marry her to-night. But in the mean time, as I have +positively nothing to do,--if you happen to know a self-respecting +woman who needs to be kept from a bit of folly ... why, I am wholly at +your service. + + Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature,' + by E. Irenæus Stevenson + + + +TWO VIEWS OF MONEY + +From 'The Money Question' + + + [The following passage occurs in the first act of Dumas's + play. The characters include the young parvenu Jean Giraud, + the aristocratic M. De Cayolle, and several others, all + guests in the drawing-room of the country-house of Madame + Durieu. In course of the conversation Giraud refers to his + father, at one time a gardener on the estate of M. De + Charzay.] + +_Jean Giraud_--Oh, yes, yes, I have got along in the world, as people +say. There are people who blush for their fathers; I make a brag of +mine--that's the difference. + +_René de Charsay_--And what is Father Giraud nowadays? Oh, I beg your +pardon-- + +_Jean_--Don't be embarrassed--we keep on calling him Father Giraud all +the same. He is a gardener still, only he gardens on his own account. +He owns the house that your father was obliged to sell a while ago. My +father has never had but one idea,--our Father Giraud,--and that is to +be a land-owner; I bought that piece of property for him, and so he is +as happy as a fish in the water. If you like, we will go and take +breakfast with him to-morrow morning. He will be delighted to see you. +How things change, eh? There, where a while ago we were the servants, +now we are the masters; though we are not so very proud, for all that. + +_Countess Savelli_ [_aside_]--He has passed the Rubicon of parvenus! +He has confessed his father! Now nothing can stop his way! + +_Jean_ [_to De Charsay_]--I have wanted to see you for a long time, +but I have not been sure how you would meet me. + +_René_--I would have met you with pleasure, as my uncle would have met +you. One cannot utter reproaches to a man who has made his own +fortune, except when he has made it by dishonest means; a man who owes +it to his intelligence and his probity, who uses it worthily, +everybody is ready to meet kindly, as you are met here. + +_Jean_--Sir, it is not necessary that a man should use his fortune +nobly, provided it is made--that is the main thing! + +_Madame Durieu_--Oh, oh, M. Giraud! there you spoil everything that +you have said. + +_Jean_--I don't say that of my own case, madam, but I say just what I +say,--money is money, whatever may be the kind of hands where it +sticks. It is the sole power that one never disputes. You may dispute +virtue, beauty, courage, genius; but you can't dispute money. There is +not one civilized being, rising in the morning, who does not recognize +the sovereignty of money, without which he would have neither the roof +which shelters, him, nor the bed in which he sleeps, nor the bread +that he eats. Whither are bound these masses of people crowding in the +streets?--from the employé sweating under his too heavy burden, to the +millionaire hurrying down to the Bourse behind his two trotters? The +one is running after fifteen sous, the other after one hundred +thousand francs. Why do we all have these shops, these railroads, +these factories, these theatres, these museums, these lawsuits between +brothers and sisters, between fathers and sons, these revelations, +these divisions in families, these murders? All for pieces, more or +less numerous, of that white or yellow metal which people call silver +or gold. And pray who will be the most thought of at the end of this +grand race after money? The man who brings back the most of it. Ah, +nowadays a man has no business to have more than one object in +life--and that is to become as rich as possible! For my part, that has +always been my idea; I have carried it out: I congratulate myself on +it. Once upon a time everybody found me homely, stupid, a bore; to-day +everybody finds me handsome, witty, amiable,--and the Lord knows if +_I_ am witty, amiable, handsome! On the day when I might be stupid +enough to let myself be ruined, to become plain "Jean" as before, +there would not be enough stones in the Montmartre quarries to throw +at my head. But there, that day is a good way off, and meantime many +of my business acquaintances have been ruined for the sake of keeping +me from ruin. The last word, too, the greatest praise that I could +give to wealth, certainly is, that such a circle as I find myself in +at present has had the patience to listen so long to the son of a +gardener, who has no other right to their attention than the poor +little millions that he has made. + +_Durieu_ [_aside_]--It is all absolutely true, every word that he has +been saying--gardener's son that he is! He sees our epoch just as it +really is. + +_Madame Durieu_--Come now, my dear M. De Cayolle, what do you think of +what M. Giraud has been telling us? + +_Cayolle_--I think, madam, that the theories of M. Giraud are sound, +but sound only as to that society in which M. Giraud has lived until +now: a world of speculation, whose one object naturally ought to be to +make money. As to wealth itself, it brings about infamous things, but +it also brings about great and noble things. In that respect it is +like human speech: a bad thing for some people, a good thing for +others, according to the use they make of it. This obligation of our +state of society that makes a man wake up each morning with taking +thought of the necessary sum for his personal wants, lest he take what +does not belong to him, has created the finest intelligence of all the +ages! It is simply to this need of money every day that we owe +Franklin, who began the world by being a printer's apprentice; +Shakespeare, who used to hold horses at the door of the theatre which +later he was going to immortalize; Machiavelli, who was secretary to +the Florentine republic at fifteen crowns a month; Raphael, the son of +a mere dauber; Jean Jacques Rousseau, a notary's clerk and an +engraver,--one who did not have a dinner every day; Fulton, once upon +a time a mechanic, who gave us steam: and so many others. Had these +same people been born with an income of half a million livres apiece, +there would have been a good many chances that not one of them would +ever have become what he did become. [_To M. Giraud._] This race after +wealth, of which you speak, M. Giraud, has good in it: even if it +enriches some silly people or some rascals, if it procures for them +the consideration of those in a humble station of life,--of the lower +classes, of those who have cash relations with society, on the other +hand there is a great deal of good in the spur given to faculties +which would otherwise remain stationary; enough good to pardon some +errors in the distribution of wealth. Just in proportion as you enter +into the true world of society--a world which is almost unknown to +you, M. Giraud--you will find that a man who is received there is +received only in proportion to his personal value. Look around here +where we are, without taking the trouble to go any further, and you +will see that money has not the influence you ascribe to it. For +proof, here is Countess Savelli, with half a million francs income, +who in place of dining out with millionaires besieging her house every +day, comes quietly here to dine with our friends the Durieus, people +without title, poor people measured by her fortune; and she comes here +for the pleasure of meeting M. De Charzay, who has not more than a +thousand crowns income, but who, for all the millionaires in the +world, would never do a thing a man ought not to do; and she meets +here M. De Roncourt, who has a business of fifteen hundred francs +because he gave up his fortune to creditors who were not his own +creditors. There is Mademoiselle De Roncourt, who sacrificed her dowry +to the same sentiment of honor; yonder is Mademoiselle Durieu, who +would never be willing to become the wife of any other than an honest +man, even if he had for his rivals all the Croesuses present and to +come; and last of all, one meets me here,--a man who has for money (in +the acceptation that you give the word) the most profound contempt. +Now, M. Giraud, if we listened to you for so long a time, it is +because we are well-bred people, and besides, you talk very well; but +there has been no flattery for your millions in our attention, and the +proof is that everybody has been listening to me a longer time than to +you,--listening to me, who have not like you a thousand-franc note to +put along with every one of my phrases! + +_Jean_--Who is that gentleman who has just been speaking? + +_Durieu_--That is M. De Cayolle. + +_Jean_--The railway director? + +_Durieu_--Yes. + +_Jean_ [_going to M. De Cayolle_]--M. De Cayolle, I hope you will +believe that I am very glad to meet you. + +_Cayolle_--I dare say you are, monsieur. [_M. De Cayolle as he utters +the words turns his back upon Giraud and steps aside_.] + + Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by + E. Irenæus Stevenson + + + +M. DE RÉMONIN'S PHILOSOPHY OF MARRIAGE + +From 'L'Étrangère' + + +_Madame de Rumières_--See here, now, Rémonin, you who claim to explain +everything as a learned man--can you solve this proposition? Why is it +that with all the quantity of love in this world, there are so many +unhappy marriages? + +_M. Rémonin_--I could give you a perfect explanation, my dear lady, if +you were not a woman. + +_Madame de Rumières_--You mean that the explanation is not decent? + +_M. Rémonin_--No, I mean that it is a matter based on the abstract.... +It is this. The reason why marriages are rarely happy, in spite of the +"quantity of love" in question, is because love and marriage, +scientifically considered, have no relationship. They belong to two +sorts of things, completely differing. Love is of the physical. +Marriage is a matter of chemistry. + +_Madame de Rumières_--Explain yourself. + +_Rémonin_--Certainly. Love is an element of the natural evolution of +our being; it comes to us of itself in course of our life, at one time +or another, independent of all our will, and even without a definite +object. The human creature can wish to be in love before really loving +any one!... But marriage is a social combination, an adjustment, that +refers itself to chemistry, as I have said; since chemistry concerns +itself with the action of one element on another and the phenomena +resulting: ... to the end of bringing about family life, morality, and +labor, and in consequence the welfare of man, as involved in all +three. Now, so often as you really can conform to the theory of such a +blending of things, so long as you happen to have effected in marriage +such a combination of the physical _and_ chemical, all goes well; the +experiment is happy, it results well. But if you are ignorant or +maladroit enough to seek and to make a combination of two refractory +chemical forces in the matrimonial experiment, then in the place of a +fusion you will find you have only inert forces; and the two elements +remain there, together but unfused, eternally opposed to each other, +never able to be united!... Or else there is not merely inertia--there +are shocks, explosions, catastrophes, accidents, dramas.... + +_Madame de Rumières_--Have you ever been in love? + +_M. Rémonin_--I? My dear marquise, I am a scientist--I have never had +time! And you? + +_Madame de Rumières_--I have loved my children. M. de Rumières was a +charming man all his life; but he didn't expect me really to love him. +My son tells me his affairs of the heart; ... my daughter has already +made me a grandmother ... I have little to reproach myself as to my +past life, and now I look on at the lives of others, sometimes much +interested. I am like the subscribers to the Opéra, who know the whole +repertory by heart, but who can always hear some passages with +pleasure and who encourage the débutants. + + Condensed and translated for 'A Library of the World's Best + Literature,' by E. Irenæus Stevenson. + + + +REFORMING A FATHER + +From 'A Prodigal Father' + + + [The ensuing dialogue occurs in the first act of the play. + The Count de Ravonnieres and his son Andre reside together in + their comfortable bachelor's establishment in Paris, and are + devotedly attached to one another. The count, unfortunately, + has only grown more careless of money, more a gay man of the + world, as he has grown older; and blessed with a youthfulness + of physique and temperament that nothing impairs, he is as + thriftless as he is fascinating. His son, accordingly, has + had to be the economist of their resources, which are at a + dangerous ebb. As the scene opens, the count is preparing to + take luncheon, with Joseph, the confidential servant of the + house, in attendance.] + +_Joseph_--Monsieur is served. + +_Count de Ravonnieres_--Very well. You will please go to my florist +Lemoine, the Opera florist,--you know who I mean,--and tell him to +send, to-day, with my card,--he has a lot of cards of mine in +advance,--to Mademoiselle Albertine de la Borde, 26 or 28 Rue de la +Paix--I don't exactly remember the number that the lady gave me-- + +_Joseph_--No. 26. + +_Count_--Ah! You know her address, do you? + +_Joseph_--Yes, sir. + +_Count_--To send her a bouquet of white lilacs and roses. And I don't +need you any more: go at once. [_Joseph bows, and hands the Count a +large envelope._] What's all this? + +_Joseph_--Some law papers that have come in your absence, sir, which I +did not think ought to be forwarded to Dieppe. + +_Count_ [_without taking the papers_]--Quite right. Has my son seen +them? + +_Joseph_--No, sir. + +_Count_--Very well; don't let him see them. Put them away with the +others. + +_Joseph_--May I beg monsieur to say a good word for me to his son? + +_Count_--As to what, Joseph? + +_Joseph_--Your son, sir, has just told me to look out for another +situation; and I am so attached to the family-- + +_Count_--Oh, I will straighten all that out; if my son sends you away +I will take you into our service again. Come now, get off to my +florist; be quick about it. + + _As_ Joseph _goes out,_ André _enters. He does not at first + perceive his father, but on turning toward the table + discovers him._ + +_André_--Ah! you are here, are you? + +_Count_--Yes, I have been here during an hour; and moreover, a very +agreeable person has been doing the honors of your establishment on my +behalf. + +_André_--It is a fine time to talk about agreeable persons! You are a +very agreeable person-- + +_Count_--What in the world is the matter with you? + +_André_--I am perfectly furious. + +_Count_--Against whom? + +_André_--Against you. + +_Count_--Why? What have I been doing? + +_André_--You have drawn on me at sight this draft here. + +_Count_--Oh yes, I know very well what that means. It comes from +London; it is to pay for the boat, you know. + +_André_--Oh yes, it comes from London, and it is to pay for the boat! +That is no excuse for it. And what about the boat, if you please? + +_Count_--But my dear fellow, they had no business to present it until +the 15th. + +_André_--Well? + +_Count_--Why, to-day _is_ the 15th! + +_André_--You ought to know it. + +_Count_--I thought that to-day was only the 14th! Have you paid it? + +_André_--Of course. + +_Count_--Ah! then I owe you six thousand francs. That's all there is +to the matter. + +_André_--Yes, that's all! But you never said a word to me about it; I +had no money in the house: I had to send to our man of business. May I +beg of you in the future to be so good as to-- + +_Count_--Poor boy! poor boy! Really, between ourselves, you would have +done a great deal better (as it is a month since you have seen me, and +since you are really very fond of me) to embrace me in meeting me +again, rather than to say all these things to me that you have been +saying! + +_André_ [_embracing his father heartily_]--Oh, of course they make no +difference, when it comes to _that_! + +_Count_--Your second impulse is a very good one; but you ought to have +begun with it. All the same, I do not in the less ask pardon for the +inconvenience that I have caused you, my boy. [_Takes some bank-notes +from his pocket._] Here are your six thousand francs, and [_holding +out the remainder of the notes to André_] since you need money, help +yourself. + +_André_--Where in the world does that money come from? + +_Count_--Oh, it is some money that I have received. + +_André_--There was none coming to you from anywhere! + +_Count_--There is always something to come to one, if he looks around +carefully. And now let us speak of serious things. + +_André_--Yes, by all means. Father, are you not disposed to settle +down? + +_Count_--What do you mean by "settle down"? + +_André_--To save money, for one thing. + +_Count_--Save money! I should be charmed to do so; but I really do not +see how we can do it. We certainly live as modestly as possible. This +house belongs to us; we have only four saddle horses, four carriage +horses, a couple of extra horses for evening service (we could not get +along with less), two coachmen, two valets, two grooms, one cook. Why, +we haven't even a housekeeper. + +_André_--No, we only want that! + +_Count_--We never receive any except masculine society; we certainly +are not extravagant as to the table. Look at me here: I am +breakfasting this minute on two eggs and a glass of water. It seems to +me that with our fortune-- + +_André_--Our fortune? Would you like to know in what condition our +fortune is? + +_Count_--You ought to know better than I, since it is you who have had +the running of affairs since your majority. + +_André_--Well then, I _do_ know the expenses; and let me tell you that +you have counted up only those that are part of our life in Paris, and +you have not said a syllable of those that belong to our country one. + +_Count_--Those that belong to our country one! Those are all just so +much economy. + +_André_--So then the place at Vilsac is just so much economy? + +_Count_--Of course. We get everything from it, from eggs up to oxen. + +_André_--Yes, and even to wild boars, when it suits you to shoot one. +Now be so good as to consider the place at Vilsac, which you call a +matter of economy. First of all, it brings us in absolutely nothing. + +_Count_--It never has brought us in anything. + +_André_--It is mortgaged for two hundred thousand francs. + +_Count_--That happened when I was young. + +_André_--Are you under the impression that there comes a time when +mortgages wear themselves out? I wish they did. But I am afraid that +you deceive yourself; and in the mean time, you are paying every year +a mortgagor's interest. Furthermore, at Vilsac-- + +_Count_--Where, remember, we spend September, October, November, all +of which is positively an economy-- + +_André_--Furthermore, as to Vilsac, this summer place where we pass +September, October, and November,--all of which is positively an +economy,--the proof of its being an economy is that here we are in the +middle of September, and we are just setting out for Dieppe. + +_Count_--For one time only, by chance! And moreover, we will have to +go down to Vilsac by the end of the month, for I have asked those +fellows to come down there for the shooting. + +_André_--Yes, in this economical country place, where you have asked +all those gentlemen to come down for the shooting, at the end of the +month-- + +_Count_--Really, one would be bored to death without that! + +_André_--In this same economical establishment, I say, you have twelve +keepers. + +_Count_--Quite true; but it is one of the best preserves in France, +and really, there are so many poachers-- + +_André_--You have two masters of hounds, you have ten horses,--in +short, a whole hunting equipage; and I don't speak of the indemnities +that you pay year by year, if only for the rabbits that you kill. + +_Count_--The fact is, there _are_ thousands of rabbits; but shooting +rabbits is such fun! + +_André_--Add to that the entertainments that it occurs to you to give +every now and then, with fireworks and so on, during the evening. + +_Count_--Oh, yes, but that pleases all the peasants of the +neighborhood, who adore me; between ourselves it _is_ rather--Oh, my +dear boy! if I had only been rich, what fine things I would have done! +In France, people do not know how to spend money. In Russia it is +quite another matter! Now, there you have people who understand how to +give an entertainment. But then what can anybody do with two hundred +thousand livres for an income? + +_André_--Father, one can do exactly what you have done,--one can ruin +himself. + +_Count_--What! ruin himself? + +_André_--Yes. When my mother died your personal fortune brought you, +as you say, an income of two hundred thousand livres; and the money +which my mother left to me, of which you have had the use until I came +of age, amounted to a hundred and twenty thousand livres. + +_Count_--I certainly have made an accounting to you in the matter. + +_André_--A perfectly exact one, only-- + +_Count_--Only--? + +_André_--Only in doing so you have seriously impaired your own +capital. + +_Count_--Why did you not say that to me at the time? + +_André_--Because I too--I was thinking of nothing but spending money. + +_Count_--You ought to have warned me about this before now. + +_André_--But I--I was doing then just what I see you doing; I was +taking life exactly as you had taught me to take it. + +_Count_--André, I hope that is not a reproach. + +_André_--God bless me, no. I am only saying to you why I have not +looked after your interests better than you have ever done so +yourself. + +_Count_--Very good, Then I am going to explain to you why I brought +you up-- + +_André_--Not worth while, my dear father. There is no good in going +back to that, and I know quite well-- + +_Count_--On the contrary, you know nothing at all about the matter, +and you will please allow me to speak. It will be a consolation. You +are perfectly right as to things that have no common-sense in them; +and if I have brought you up after a certain manner, it is just +because I myself suffer from a different kind of education. _I_ was +brought up very severely; at twenty-two years I knew nothing of life. +I was born, I was kept hanging on at Vilsac, with my father and my +mother, who were saints on earth, with my great-uncle, who had the +gout, and with my tutor, who was an abbé. I was born with a +constitution like iron. I went hunting day by day for whole months, on +foot or on horseback. I ate my meals like an ogre. I rode every sort +of a horse, and I was a swordsman like St. George himself. As for +other things, my dear fellow, there was no use dreaming about them: I +had not a crown in my pocket. The other sex--well, I had heard it said +that there was a world of women somewhere, but I certainly did not +know where it was. One day my father asked me if I was willing to +marry, and I cried out, "Oh yes, yes!" with such an explosion that my +father himself could not help laughing--he who never laughed. I was +presented to a young girl, virtuous and beautiful; and I fell in love +with her with a passion which at first fairly frightened the delicate +and timid creature. Such was your mother, my dear André, and to her I +owe the two happiest years of my life; it is true that I owe to her +also my greatest grief, for at the end of those two years she died. +But it must be said, either to the blame or to the praise of nature, +that organizations such as mine are proof against the severest shocks. +At twenty-four years I found myself rich, a widower, free to do what I +pleased, and thrown--with a child a year old--into the midst of this +world called Paris, of which I knew nothing whatever. Ought I to have +condemned you to this sort of life that I had led at Vilsac, and which +had been for me so often an intolerable bore? No, I obeyed my real +nature. I gave you my qualities and my shortcomings, without reckoning +closely in the matter; I have sought in your case your affection +rather than your obedience or your respect. I have never taught you +economy, it is true, but then I did not know anything about that +myself; and besides, I had not a business and a business name to leave +you. To have everything in common between us, one heart and one purse, +to be able to give each other everything and say everything to each +other,--that has been our motto. The puritans will think that they +have a right to blame this intimacy as too close: let them say so if +they choose. We have lost, it seems, some hundreds of thousands of +francs; but we have gained this,--that we can always count upon each +other, you upon me and I upon you. Either of us will be ready at any +moment to kill himself for the other, and that is the most important +matter between a father and a son; all the rest is not worth the +trouble that one takes to reason about it. Don't you think I am right? + +_André_--All that is true, my dear father! and I am just as much +attached to you as you are to me. Far be it from me to reproach you; +but now in my turn I want to make a confession to you. You are an +exception in our society; your fettered youth, your precocious +widowerhood, are your excuses, if you need any. You were born at a +time when all France was in a fever, and when the individual, as well +as the great mass of people, seemed to be striving to spend by every +possible means a superabundance of vitality. Urged toward active life +by nature, by curiosity, by temperament, you have cared for things +that were worth caring for,--for them only; for entertaining yourself, +for hunting, for fine horses, for the artist world, for people of rank +and distinction. In such an environment as this you have paid your +tribute to your country, you have paid the debt of your rank in life +and of your name. But I, on the other hand, like almost all my +generation, brought in contact with a fashionable world from the time +that I began life,--I, born in an epoch of lassitude and +transition,--I led for a while this life by mere imitation in +laziness.... It is a kind of existence that no longer amuses me; and +moreover, I can tell you that it never did amuse me. To sit up all +night turning over cards; to get up at two o'clock in the afternoon, +to have horses put to the carriage and go for the drive around the +Lake, or to ride horseback; to live by day with idlers and to pass my +evenings with such parasites as your friend M. De Tournas--all that +seems to me the height of foolishness. And at the bottom of your own +thoughts you think just as I do. So now, now that you really have got +to a serious explanation of affairs, let us reach a real irrevocable +determination of them. Are you willing to let me arrange your life for +you in the future exactly as I would wish to arrange my own life? Are +you willing to have confidence in me, and after having brought me up +in your way, are you willing that in turn, while there is still time +for it, I should--bring you up in mine? + +_Count_--Yes, go on. + +_André_--Very well,--to severe diseases strong remedies. You think a +great deal of our Vilsac estate? + +_Count_--I was born there. I should not be sorry to end my days +there. + +_André_--Very well. We will keep Vilsac for you, and find money in +some other way to pay off the mortgage. + +_Count_--How? + +_André_--That's my business; only you must send away the two piqueurs, +and six of the keepers. + +_Count_--Poor fellows! + +_André_--And only four horses are to be kept. No more entertainments +are to be given, no more fireworks. You will entertain only two or +three intimate friends now and then,--if we find as many friends as +that among all those that are about us nowadays here.--and you will +stay at Vilsac seven or eight months of the year. + +_Count_--Alone! + +_André_--Wait a little. I have not finished yet. This house where we +are must be sold. We must put out of doors these servants, who are +just so many thieves; and we will keep at Paris only a very modest +stopping-place. + +_Count_--Will you kindly allow me to get my breath? + +_André_--Don't stir, or my surgical operation will not be successful. +Now that your debts are paid there will be left to you-- + +_Count_--There will be left to me-- + +_André_--Forty thousand livres income, and as much for me,--no more; +and with all that, during three or four years you will not have the +capital at your disposition. + +_Count_--Heavens, what a smash! + +_André_--Are you willing to accept my scheme? + +_Count_--I must. + +_André_--Very well, then: sign these papers! + +_Count_--What are they? + +_André_--They are papers which I have just got from the notary, and +which I have been expecting to make you sign while at Dieppe and send +to me; but since you are here-- + +_Count_ [_signs_]--Since I am here, I may as well sign at once: you +are quite right,--there you are. + +_André_--Very well; now as, according to my notions, just as much as +you are left to yourself you will slip back into the same errors as in +the past-- + +_Count_--What are you going to do further? + +_André_--Guess. + +_Count_--You are going to forbid-- + +_André_--Are you out of your senses? I am going to marry you off. + +_Count_--Marry me off! + +_André_--Without permission. + +_Count_--And how about yourself? + +_André_--I am going to marry myself off--afterwards. You must begin as +an example. + +_Count_--André, do you know something? + +_André_--What? + +_Count_--Some one has told you the very thing I have had in mind. + +_André_--Nobody has told me anything. + +_Count_--Your word on it? + +_André_--My word on it. + +_Count_--Explain yourself. You, all by yourself, have had this idea of +marriage? + +_André_--I myself. + +_Count_--Deny now the sympathy between us! + +_André_--Well? + +_Count_--It exists [_putting his arms around his son_]. There, embrace +me! + +_André_--And you accept? + +_Count_--As if I would do anything else! + + Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by + E. Irenæus Stevenson + + + +MR. AND MRS. CLARKSON + +From 'L'Étrangère' + + + [These scenes, the final ones of the drama, occur in the + private drawing-room of Catherine, the young Duchess of + Septmonts. Mr. Clarkson, a wealthy American man of business, + a Californian, has just received a note from the Duke of + Septmonts, a blasé young roué of high family, requesting him + to call at once. He has come, in some bewilderment, to find + the duke. Mr. Clarkson has only a formal acquaintance with + the duke, but Mrs. Clarkson, who resides much of the time in + Paris, acting as Mr. Clarkson's business representative, + knows the duke confidentially. The Duchess of Septmonts + receives Clarkson.] + +_Mr. Clarkson_--I beg your pardon, madam, for having insisted on +making my way in here; but a few moments ago I found on returning to +my house, a letter from your husband. It asked me for a rendezvous as +soon as possible, without giving me a reason for it. I find M. de +Septmonts not at home. May I ask you if you know how I can be of +service to him? + +_Catherine_--I was under the impression that in his letter, M. de +Septmonts explained to you the matter in which he wishes your +assistance. + +_Clarkson_--No. + +_Catherine_--Did not his letter contain another letter, sealed, which +he purposed leaving in your hands? + +_Clarkson_--No. + +_Catherine_--Are you really telling me the truth? + +_Clarkson_--I never lie, madam: I have too much business on my hands; +it would mix me up quite too much in my affairs. + +_Catherine_--Then perhaps it is to Mrs. Clarkson that my husband has +intrusted that letter. + +_Clarkson_--No. She would have mentioned it; for I told her that I had +received a line from the Duke, and was on my way to this house. + +_Catherine_--Perhaps your wife did not tell you--all. + +_Clarkson_--She has no earthly reason to conceal anything from me! + +_Catherine_--True! I know very well that she is your wife only in +name; she told me as much when I was at her house yesterday. + +_Clarkson_--Really! She must be very much pleased with you, for she +does not talk readily about her personal affairs. + +_Catherine_--Unfortunately, it is quite otherwise as far as I am +concerned; she has not hidden from me the fact that she detests me, +and that she will do me all the injury she possibly can. + +_Clarkson_--You? Injury? For what reason? Pray, what have you done to +her? + +_Catherine_--Nothing! I have known her only two days. Nevertheless-- + +_Clarkson_--Nevertheless-- + +_Catherine_--What I was going to say is not my secret, sir, it is +hers, and she alone has the right to tell it to you. But as to this +letter that my husband has told my father he has sent to you--it is I +who wrote that letter. You may as well know, too, that it was +abstracted from my possession; and moreover, that with that letter any +one can indeed do me all the mischief with which your wife, Mrs. +Clarkson, has threatened me. + +_Clarkson_ [_very gravely_]--Then we must know at once if my wife has +that letter. I will write her to come here immediately and join +us--that I have something very important to communicate to her--here. +Are you willing to have her come? [_He writes while he speaks._] + +_Catherine_--Certainly. + +_Clarkson_--Then we can have a general explanation. You may be sure, +madam, that I shall never lend my hand to anything that means harm to +you, or to any woman: I come from the country where we respect women. + +_Catherine_ [_rings the bell, and says to a servant who answers +it_]--See that this letter is sent immediately. Be careful that it +does not go astray. It is not my letter. This gentleman has written +it. [_Exit servant._] + +_Clarkson_--And now, madam, do you know why M. de Septmonts wishes to +have an interview with me? + +_Catherine_--Yes, I can guess. It concerns me, perhaps; but I have no +right to discuss the matter. It is something which belongs to the +Duke, and he alone has the right to impart it to you. All I can do is +to beg of you to have all details thoroughly explained to you, and to +look into them very carefully. + + _A_ Servant _enters_ + +_Servant_--M. le Duc has come in; he will be glad to have Mr. Clarkson +come to him. + +_Clarkson_--Very good. [_Going_.] I bid you good evening, madam. + +_Catherine_ [_to the servant_]--Wait a moment. [_Going to Clarkson and +speaking in a low voice._] Suppose I were to ask you a very great +service. + +_Clarkson_--Ask it, madam. + +_Catherine_--Suppose I were to ask you to say to my husband that you +are waiting for him here in this drawing-room--that you will be glad +to speak with him _here_. + +_Clarkson_--Nothing but that? With great pleasure. [_To the servant._] +Say to M. de Septmonts that I shall be obliged if he will join +me--here. [_Servant goes out._] + +_Catherine_--I shall leave you; for if I know what is going to be +discussed in this interview, I neither could nor should take part in +it; but whatever may come of it, I shall never forget that you have +done everything that you could do as a courtesy to me,--and that you +are a gentleman. [_Exit Catherine._] + +_Clarkson_ [_alone_]--Charming! She is charming, that little woman; +but may I be hanged if I understand one word of what is going on here. + + The Duke of Septmonts _comes in hastily, and advances to_ + Clarkson. + +_Septmonts_--I have just come from your house, Mr. Clarkson. Mrs. +Clarkson told me you were here. I returned at once. Pardon me for +troubling you. If when I came in I asked you to come to my own +drawing-room, and have thus troubled you once more, it is because I +was told you were expecting me here, with the duchess. This is her +private parlor; and as what we have to say is a matter for men-- + +_Clarkson_--Therefore the duchess went to her own room when your +return here was announced. + +_Septmonts_--Mr. Clarkson, did _she_ tell the servant that you would +prefer to hold our conversation here? + +_Clarkson_--No, I told him. + + [_Septmonts goes to the door of the room by which Catherine + went out, and closes the portière._] + +_Clarkson_ [_in a scornful aside_]--What an amount of mystery and +precaution! + +_Septmonts_--The matter is this, Mr. Clarkson. I must fight a duel +to-morrow morning. This duel can terminate only in the death of one or +other of the contestants. I am the insulted one, therefore I have the +choice of weapons. I choose the sword. + +_Clarkson_--Do you fence well? + +_Septmonts_--I believe I am one of the best fencers in Paris. But +another friend on whom I could count is one of those men of the world +who discuss all the details of an affair, and with whom the +preliminaries of such a meeting might last several days. I want to get +through with the matter at once. + +_Clarkson_--Ah! The fact is, you _do_ give an importance and a +solemnity to such things in France that we don't understand, we +Americans, who settle the question in five minutes on the first corner +of the street, in the sight of everybody. + +_Septmonts_--That is just the reason that I allowed myself to apply to +you, Mr. Clarkson. Now, are you disposed to be present as my second? + +_Clarkson_--Bless me, with all my heart! Besides, when I mentioned +your letter to Mrs. Clarkson she told me to do all I could to serve +you. Have you and my wife known each other long? + +_Septmonts_--About four years; and I owe your wife a great deal, +morally speaking. I have no desire to conceal the fact. I was not yet +married when I met Mrs. Clarkson. One day I had lost a large sum at +play,--a hundred and fifty thousand francs,--which I did not have, and +tried in vain to procure; for at that time I was completely ruined. +Mrs. Clarkson very generously lent me the sum, and I repaid it, with +interest equivalent to the capital. + +_Clarkson_--But as you were ruined, duke, how could you pay this large +capital and this large interest? Did your father or mother die? In +France the death of parents is a great resource, I know. + +_Septmonts_--No. I was an orphan, and I had no expectations. I +married. + +_Clarkson_--Ah, true! You French people make much of marriages for +money! It's a great advantage over us Americans, who only marry for +love. Now with us, in such a case as yours, a man goes into some +business or other; he goes to mining; he works. But every country has +its own customs. I beg your pardon for interrupting you. After all, it +doesn't concern me. Come back to our duel. + +_Septmonts_--I have a letter here in my hands-- + +_Clarkson_--Ah! You have a letter in your hands-- + +_Septmonts_--A letter which compromises my wife-- + +_Clarkson_--Ah! I am completely at your service. I belong to the sort +of men who do not admit any compromises in matters of that kind. + +_Septmonts_--I may be killed--one has to look ahead. If I lose my +life, I lose it by having been so injured by my wife that I intend to +be revenged on her. + +_Clarkson_--And how? + +_Septmonts_--I wish that the contents of this letter, which I have in +my possession, shall become public property if I am killed. + +_Clarkson_ [_coldly_]--Ah! And how can I serve you as to that? + +_Septmonts_--I will intrust this sealed letter to you. [_He takes the +letter from his pocket._] Here it is. + +_Clarkson_ [_still more coldly_]--Very well. + +_Septmonts_--Now, if I survive, you will restore it to me as it is. If +not, then in the trial which will follow, you will read it in a court. +I wish the letters to become public. Then it will be known that I +avenged my honor under a feigned pretext; and M. Gérard and the +duchess will be so situated that they will never be able to see each +other again. + +_Clarkson_--Nonsense! Once dead, what does it matter to you? + +_Septmonts_--I am firm there. Will you kindly accept the commission? + +_Clarkson_ [_in a formal tone_]--Surely. + +_Septmonts_--Here is the letter. + +_Clarkson_ [_takes it and holds it as he speaks_]--But, duke, now that +I think about it, when this trial occurs it is probable, even certain, +that I shall not be in France. I was expecting to leave Paris on +business to-morrow morning at the latest. I can wait until to-morrow +evening to please you, and to help you with this duel of yours; but +that is really all the time I can spare. + +_Septmonts_--Very well; then you will have the goodness to give this +letter to Mrs. Clarkson with the instructions I have just given you, +and it will be in equally good hands. + +_Clarkson_ [_looking at the letter_]--All right. A blank envelope. +What is there to indicate that this letter was addressed to M. Gérard? + +_Septmonts_--The envelope with his name on it is inside. + +_Clarkson_--You found this letter? + +_Septmonts_--I found it--before it was mailed. + +_Clarkson_--And as you had your suspicions you--opened it? + +_Septmonts_--Yes. + +_Clarkson_--I beg your pardon for questioning you so, but you yourself +did me the honor to say that you wished me to be _fully_ informed. Do +you know whether the sentiments between M. Gérard and the duchess were +of long standing? + +_Septmonts_--They date from before my marriage. + +_Clarkson_ [_looking toward the apartment of the duchess_]--Oh, I see. +That is serious! + +_Septmonts_--They loved each other, they wanted to marry each other, +but my wife's father would not consent. + +_Clarkson_ [_reflectively_]--M. Gérard wanted to marry her, did he? + +_Septmonts_--Yes; but when he learned that Mademoiselle Mauriceau was +a millionaire, as he had nothing and had no title other than his plain +name Gérard, he withdrew his pretensions. + +_Clarkson_--That was a very proper thing for the young man to do. It +doesn't surprise me! + +_Septmonts_--Yes; but now, Mr. Clarkson, this young gentleman has come +back-- + +_Clarkson_--And is too intimate a friend to your wife? + +_Septmonts_--Ah, I do not say that! + +_Clarkson_--What do you say, then? + +_Septmonts_--That as the letter in question gives that impression, the +situation amounts to the same thing as far as a legal process is +concerned. + +_Clarkson_ [_thoughtfully and coldly_]--Oh-h-h! + +_Septmonts_--Don't you agree with me, Mr. Clarkson? + +_Clarkson_--No, not at all. I can understand revenge on those who have +injured us, but not on those who haven't done so. And I don't like +vengeance on a woman anyway, even when she is guilty; and certainly +not when she is innocent; and you owe your wife a great deal--between +ourselves, you owe your wife a great deal, duke. I understand now why, +for once, your father-in-law M. Mauriceau sides with his daughter and +M. Gérard against you. He is sure they both are innocent. By-the-by, +does M. Mauriceau also know of this letter? + +_Septmonts_--Yes. He even tried to take it from me by force. + +_Clarkson_--Why did he not take it? + +_Septmonts_--Ah, because you see, I had the presence of mind to tell +him that I did not have it any longer--that I had sent it to you! + +_Clarkson_ [_ironically_]--That _was_ very clever! + +_Septmonts_--And then when M. Gérard had challenged me, M. Mauriceau +thought he would make an impression by saying to him before me, "I +will be your second." + +_Clarkson_--Well, is that the whole story? + +_Septmonts_--Yes. + +_Clarkson_--Very well, my dear sir: to speak frankly, all those people +whom you characterize so slightingly seem to me the right kind of +people--excellent people. Your little wife seems to be the victim of +prejudices, of morals, and of combinations about which we mere +American savages don't know anything at all. In our American society, +which of course I can't compare with yours, as we only date from +yesterday,--if Mademoiselle Mauriceau had loved a fine young fellow +like M. Gérard, her father would have given her to the man she loved; +or if he had refused that, why she would have gone quite simply and +been married before the justice of the peace! Perhaps her father +wouldn't have portioned her; but then the husband would have worked, +gone into business, and the two young people would have been happy all +the same. As to your M. Gérard here, he is an honest man and a clever +one. We like people who work, we Americans, and to whatever country +they belong, we hold them as compatriots--because we are such savages, +I suppose. So you understand that I don't at all share your opinion of +this question. + +_Septmonts_--And so speaking, you mean--? + +_Clarkson_--That if I give you this explanation, it is because I think +I understand that in paying me the honor of choosing me as a second, +you thought that the men of my country were less clear-sighted, less +scrupulous than the men of yours. In short, duke, you thought I would +lend my hand to all these social pettinesses, these little vilenesses +which you have just recounted with a candor that honors you. + +_Septmonts_--Do you happen to remember, Mr. Clarkson, that you are +talking to _me_--in this way? + +_Clarkson_--To you. Because there are only two of us here! But if you +like, we will call in other people to listen. + +_Septmonts_--Then, sir, you tell me to my face-- + +_Clarkson_--I tell you to your face that to squander your +inheritance--to have gambled away money you did not have--to borrow it +from a woman without knowing when or how you could return it--to marry +in order to pay your debts and continue your dissipations--to revenge +yourself now on an innocent woman--to steal letters--to misapply your +skill in arms by killing a brave man--why, I tell you to your face +that all that is the work of a rascal, and that therefore a rascal you +are. Oh, what astonishes me is that fifty people haven't told you so +already, and that I have had to travel three thousand leagues to +inform you on the subject! For you don't seem to have ever suspected +it, and you don't look thoroughly convinced even now. + +_Septmonts_ [_controlling himself with the greatest difficulty_]--Mr. +Clarkson, you know that I cannot call you to account until I have +settled with your friend M. Gérard. You take a strange advantage of +the fact, sir. But we shall meet again. Please return me the paper you +have had from me. + +_Clarkson_--Your wife's letter? Never in the world! As it was +addressed to M. Gérard, it belongs to M. Gérard. I intend to give it +to M. Gérard. If _he_ wants to return it to you, I won't stand in the +way; but I doubt whether he will return it. + +_Septmonts_--You will fight me, then, you mean? + +_Clarkson_--Oh! as for that; yes, fight as much as you like. + +_Septmonts_--Very well; when I have finished with the other, you and I +will have our business together. + +_Clarkson_--Say the day after to-morrow, then? + +_Septmonts_--The day after to-morrow. + +_Clarkson_--Stop; I must start off by to-morrow night, at the latest. + +_Septmonts_--You can wait. And while waiting, leave me! + +_Clarkson_--Duke, do I look like a man to whom to say "leave" in that +tone, and who goes? Now look at me; it isn't hard to see what I have +decided. I don't mean you to fight with Gérard before you have fought +with me. If Gérard kills you, I shan't have the pleasure of crossing +swords with "one of the first fencers in Paris," which it will amuse +me to do. If you kill him, you cause irreparable misfortunes. If you +think I'm going to let you kill a man who has saved me twenty-five per +cent. in the cost of washing gold, you are mistaken! Come, prove you +are brave, even when you aren't sure of being the stronger! Go and get +a good pair of swords from your room (since the sword is your favorite +weapon--mine, too, for the matter of that), and follow me to those +great bare grounds back of your house. On my way here I was wondering +why in goodness's name they were not utilized. In the heart of the +city they must be worth a good deal! We will prove it. As for seconds, +umpires of the point of honor, we'll have the people who pass by in +the street--if any do pass. + + [_Septmonts rushes in a fury toward the door, but when there + stretches his hand toward the bell. Clarkson throws himself + between him and the bell._] + +_Clarkson_--Ah! no ringing, please! Don't play the Louis XV. +gentleman, and order your servants to cudgel a poor beggar! or as sure +as my name is Clarkson, I'll slap your face, sir, before all your +lackeys! + +_Septmonts_--Very well, so be it! I _will_ begin with you. [_Angrily +hastens from the room for the weapons._] + +_Clarkson_--Quite right! [_Looking coolly at his watch._] Let me see; +why, perhaps I _can_ get away from Paris this evening after all. [_He +goes calmly out at the back toward the darkened garden._] + + [_The Duchess of Septmonts has pulled aside the portière and + looks toward the door by which her husband and Mr. Clarkson + have gone out. She is very much agitated, and can hardly + walk. She rings the bell, and then makes an effort to appear + calm. The servant comes in._] + +_Catherine_ [_tremulously, to the servant_]--Ask my father to come +here, immediately. [_The servant goes out. Catherine looks toward the +window and makes a movement to go to it._] No, I will not look out! I +will not know anything! I do not know anything; I have _heard_ +nothing; the minutes that that hand marks upon the clock, no one knows +what they say to me. One of them will decide my life! Even if I had +heard nothing, things would take the turn that they have, and I should +merely be amazed in knowing of them. Instead of knowing nothing, I +have merely to remember nothing. But no, no,--I am trying in vain to +smother the voice of my own conscience! What I am doing is wicked. +From the moment that I have known anything about this, I am an +accomplice; and if one of these two men is killed he has been killed +with my consent. No, I cannot and I will not. [_She runs toward the +door. As she does so Mrs. Clarkson enters hastily._] You, you, madam! + +_Mrs. Clarkson_--Were you not really expecting me to-day, madam? My +husband sends me a note to say that you--and he--wish to speak to me +immediately. + +_Catherine_--Madam, since Mr. Clarkson has written you, there has +occurred a thing which neither your husband, nor I, nor you yourself +could foresee. + +_Mrs. Clarkson_--What do you mean? + +_Catherine_--While my husband the duke has been explaining to Mr. +Clarkson the reasons of the duel,--which you, you, madam, have +provoked,--your husband, who did not find these reasons either +sufficient or honorable, has undertaken to defend us--Gérard, yes, +Gérard, and me,--and so very forcibly, that at this instant-- + +_Mrs. Clarkson_--They are fighting? + +_Catherine_--Yes, yes, only a few steps away from here! + +_Mrs. Clarkson_--Ah! That sounds like Clarkson! [_She takes a step +toward the door._] + +_Catherine_--Madam, that duel must not go on. + +_Mrs. Clarkson_--Why not? + +_Catherine_--I will not permit these two men to lose their lives on my +account. + +_Mrs. Clarkson_--You? What difference does it make to you? They are +not doing anything but what they chose to do. "Hands off," as the +officials at the gaming-tables say when the ball has stopped rolling. +You have wished to be free, haven't you? and you are perfectly right; +you never said so to anybody, but you begged it all the same of One +who can do anything. He has heard your prayer, and he has made use of +me to save you; of me, who have been anxious to destroy you! That is +justice; and do you think that I object--I who am to be the loser? In +the game that I play with Destiny, every time I make up my mind that +God is against me, I bow my head and throw up the game. I don't fear +any one except God. He is on your side. Let us talk no more about it. + + [_Just as she is speaking the last words, Clarkson comes in. + He is very grave._] + +_Mrs. Clarkson_--See there. You are a widow. + +_Clarkson_ [_to Mrs. Clarkson_]--My dear Noémi, will you be so kind as +to hand that paper to our friend the duchess. She will perhaps feel +some embarrassment in taking it directly from my hand--and it is a +thing that must be returned to her. Such was the last wish of her +husband; he really did not have time to tell me as much, but I fancy +that I guess it right. + + [_Mrs. Clarkson calmly takes the letter and goes to + Catherine._] + +_Mrs. Clarkson_--I once said to your friend M. Rémonin that if I lost +my game I would lose like one who plays fair. Madam, it was through me +that your marriage came to pass; and now it is through me that your +marriage--is dissolved. [_Turning to Clarkson._] And now, Clarkson, my +dear, let us get out of this. You are a good and a brave fellow. I +will go anywhere with you. I have had enough of Europe--things here +are too small. Do you know, I really believe I am going to find myself +in love with you! Come, let us go! I am positively smothering. + +_Clarkson_--Yes, let us go. + + [_At the moment that Mr. and Mrs. Clarkson are going out, + servants and police officials, accompanied by a commissioner + of the police service, appear in the door. Clarkson is + pointed out._] + +_Commissioner_--I beg your pardon, monsieur,--there seems to have +been--a murder here. + +_Clarkson_--Oh no, monsieur, not at all a murder--only a duel. + +_Commissioner_--And am I to understand, monsieur, that it is you who-- + +_Clarkson_--Oh yes, monsieur, it is I. You have come to take me into +custody? + +_Commissioner_--Yes, monsieur. + +_Clarkson_--What a ridiculous country! I am ready to follow you, +monsieur. But I am an American citizen. I shall give you bail--but of +course, the law before anything.... + +_Mrs. Clarkson_--Reckon on me, Clarkson. _I_ shall take charge of this +matter. + +_Clarkson_--How are you going to do that? + +_Mrs. Clarkson_--Oh, that's my affair. + + [_Mrs. Clarkson crosses the stage and whispers a word to the + commissioner. The commissioner bows very respectfully. Mrs. + Clarkson goes out._] + +_Commissioner_ [_to Dr. Rémonin_]--You are a doctor, monsieur? + +_Rémonin_--Yes, monsieur. + +_Commissioner_--Will you have the goodness to give a certificate of +death? + +_Rémonin_ [_significantly_]--With great pleasure! + + Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by + E. Irenæus Stevenson + + + + +GEORGE DU MAURIER + +(1834-1896) + +[Illustration: GEORGE DU MAURIER] + + +George Louis Palmella Busson du Maurier was born in Paris on March +6th, 1834, and his early life was passed there. His father was a +Frenchman, who had married an Englishwoman in Paris. The Du Mauriers +came of an old family in Brittany, Du Maurier's grandfather having +been a small _rentier_, who derived his living from glass-works. +During Du Maurier's childhood his parents removed to Belgium and +thence to London. At seventeen years of age he tried for a degree at +the Sorbonne in Paris, but was not successful; and he was put, much +against his will, to study chemistry under Dr. Williamson at +University College, London. Du Maurier's father, whose characteristics +are described in 'Peter Ibbetson,' was an amateur of science. It has +been hinted by the son that certain unlucky experiments, which were +the result of the elder Du Maurier's fancy for the natural sciences, +considerably impaired the family fortunes. The father had bent his +heart on the son's being a man of science, but the son's tastes were +all for art. He did therefore little good in his chemical studies. + +Du Maurier's father died in 1856, and he then devoted himself +definitely to art. He worked at the British Museum, and made +considerable progress there. He next went to Paris, and lived the life +which he has described in 'Trilby.' In 1857 he attended the Academy at +Antwerp, and studied under De Kaiser and Van Lerius. His severe +studies at Antwerp had the result that his sight was seriously +impaired, and he lost the use of his left eye. After two years of +enforced idleness he went to London to seek his fortune. An old +acquaintance of his student life in Paris introduced him to Charles +Reade, who in turn introduced him to Mark Lemon, the editor of Punch. +Through these acquaintances he obtained employment in drawing for Once +a Week, Punch, and the Cornhill Magazine. On the death of Leech in +1864 he was regularly attached to the staff of Punch, and till the +time of his death continued to work for that periodical with +ever-increasing success. It is not too much to say that for many years +Punch was chiefly and mainly Du Maurier. He early marked out for +himself an entirely new path, which was not in the direction of +caricature or broad comedy; grace, sentiment, and wit, rather than +fun, were the characteristics of his work. He confined himself almost +entirely to society, so that his field was a narrower one than that of +some of his coadjutors. He had not, for instance, the masculine +breadth of Leech, who represented with great strength and humor the +chief characters of English life,--the parson, the soldier, the +merchant, the farmer, etc. + +Du Maurier was almost entirely a carpet knight. He drew London +society, and a certain phase of London society. The particular society +which he represented is of very recent existence. Thirty years ago +there was but one society in London. This was simply the ancient +aristocratic society of England, which gathered in London in the +season. It is true that there was an artistic society in London at +that time, but it was quite apart and of little general recognition or +influence. But since then there has come up in London a society made +up chiefly of artists, professional people, and successful merchants +(having moreover its points of contact with the old society), which is +very strong and influential. It is this which Du Maurier knew, and +which he represented. Even here, however, the types he has selected +for description were very special. But they were presented with so +much grace and charm that the public never tired of them. To his type +of woman he was especially faithful: the tall woman with long throat +and well-defined chin, much resembling the figures of Burne-Jones and +Rossetti, only somewhat more mundane. We have the same woman in the +heroine of 'Trilby.' + +Though Du Maurier, before beginning 'Peter Ibbetson,' had never +written a book, he had had considerable literary experience, for he is +said to have spent as much time upon the construction of the dialogues +which accompanied his pictures as upon the pictures themselves. The +story of 'Peter Ibbetson' he had often related to his friends, who had +urged him to write it down. This he finally did,--at the special +instance, it is said, of Henry James. It appeared in Harper's Magazine +in 1891. 'Trilby' was published in 1894 in Harper's Magazine, and at +once attained a great popular success. The publishers estimate that +about 250,000 copies of the book have been sold. Du Maurier had sold +the book outright for £2,000, but when it became apparent that the +work was to be a success, the publishers admitted the author to a +royalty, paying at one time $40,000. They also shared with him the +large sums paid for the dramatization of the work. For 'The Martian,' +his last novel, he received £10,000 outright. This also was published +in Harper's Magazine. + +It is perhaps too early to pass judgment upon the merits of these +works. They have, no doubt, grave faults. The story of 'Peter +Ibbetson' has been completed when it is but two-thirds told. The +remaining portion of the book is a dream. This is of course a +dangerous reversal of the usual method of the story-teller, which is +to make dreams seem like facts. The hypnotic part of 'Trilby' is said +by the professional authorities on the subject to be bad science. The +hypnotism in 'Trilby' was perhaps a journalist's idea, that subject +being much talked of at the time the book was written. Du Maurier, it +need hardly be said, was by training a journalist, although the +training had been of the pencil rather than of the pen. The literary +style of the novels is curious. It makes no pretensions to finish; the +grammar even is sometimes at fault. But on the other hand, it has +decided merits. It is particularly easy, flowing, and simple. These +are not the qualities we should have expected from the nature of Du +Maurier's literary training. The brief dialogues which he has for so +many years appended to his sketches in 'Punch' would have educated, we +should have thought, the qualities of brevity and point rather than +those of ease and fullness. Certain peculiarities of the style cannot +be defended, but the author produces his effects in spite of such +solecisms. This is true of the matter of his stories as well as of the +style. They are at many points inartistically constructed; but the +stuff is good, and the works therefore hold their own in spite of +these drawbacks. They certainly have one virtue, which is most +necessary to the success of any work of the imagination: they have +reality. We believe as we read, and continue to believe after we have +ceased reading, that the Major and Mimsey and Taffy and Trilby are +real persons. They are real to us because they have in the first case +been real to their creator. It is possible, however, that the pictures +which accompany the text may increase the strength of the illusion. + +No book, in recent years at any rate, has had so instantaneous and +prodigious a popular success as 'Trilby.' Popularity is always hard to +explain with any certainty. It seems to be a quality in the warp and +woof of the mind of the man that has it. One condition appears to be +that he shall be in sympathy with the minds of the mass of his +fellow-beings. There was such a sympathy in Du Maurier's case; and to +be more particular, his kindly and friendly enthusiasm was a quality +to commend him to men. He had a power of enjoying beauty in his +fellow-beings. Then he had had a long education in the qualities that +make popularity. He had long studied the art of pleasing. It is not +improbable that in these novels, which were intended for the American +public, he may have played upon certain of our national +susceptibilities. We in this country like to have our literature +taken seriously by the European. It may be that Du Maurier may have +had an inkling of this, for it is curious to note how much of our +poetry appears in these novels. Du Maurier had a very nice taste in +poetry, a genuine enthusiasm for it which it is heartily to be wished +were shared by all college professors of English literature. Thus, he +could not have chosen better lines than those which Peter Ibbetson was +in the habit of reciting to Mimsey, 'The Water-fowl' of +Bryant,--perhaps the most perfect poem ever produced in this +country,--a poem so "beautifully carried," as Matthew Arnold once +described it to the present writer. Poe's beautiful and musical lines, +written by him at fourteen,--'Helen, thy beauty is to me,'--are also +made use of. We have a good deal of Longfellow and other American +writers. 'Ben Bolt' is of course an American song. These appeals to +our national predilections may have influenced us. But the interest +and curiosity of our practical and hard-working American public in the +Bohemian art life of the Latin Quarter was also, no doubt, a chief +cause of the popularity of 'Trilby.' + +Du Maurier did not live long to enjoy his success. He had always been +known to his friends as a sensitive man, this quality being ascribed +to ill health. Ill health was no doubt a chief cause of the vexation +with which he received certain comments upon his books, in some cases +inspired by envy of his success. Many of his recent contributions to +Punch have been at the expense of the unsuccessful author, and have +supported the thesis that ill success was not an indubitable proof of +genius. When Lord Wolseley asked him what would be the title of his +next novel, he said 'Soured by Success.' He died in London on October +8th, 1896. + + + +AT THE HEART OF BOHEMIA + +From 'Trilby' Copyright 1894, by Harper & Brothers + + +And then--well, I happen to forget what sort of a day this particular +day turned into, about six of the clock. + +If it was decently fine, the most of them went off to dine at the +Restaurant de la Couronne, kept by the Père Trin, in the Rue de +Monsieur, who gave you of his best to eat and drink for twenty sols +Parisis, or one franc in the coin of the empire. Good distending +soups, omelets that were only too savory, lentils, red and white +beans, meat so dressed and sauced and seasoned that you didn't know +whether it was beef or mutton, flesh, fowl, or good red herring,--or +even bad, for that matter,--nor very greatly care. + +And just the same lettuce, radishes, and cheese of Gruyère or Brie as +you got at the Trois Frères Provençaux (but not the same butter!). And +to wash it all down, generous wine in wooden "brocs," that stained a +lovely aesthetic blue everything it was spilled over. + +And you hobnobbed with models, male and female, students of law and +medicine, painters and sculptors, workmen and blanchisseuses and +grisettes, and found them very good company, and most improving to +your French, if your French was of the usual British kind, and even to +some of your manners, if these were very British indeed. And the +evening was innocently wound up with billiards, cards, or dominoes at +the Café du Luxembourg opposite; or at the Théâtre du Luxembourg, in +the Rue de Madame, to see funny farces with screamingly droll +Englishmen in them; or still better, at the Jardin Bullier (la +Closerie des Lilas), to see the students dance the cancan, or try and +dance it yourself, which is not so easy as it seems; or best of all, +at the Théâtre de l'Odéon, to see Fechter and Madame Doche in the +'Dame aux Camélias.' + +Or if it were not only fine, but a Saturday afternoon into the +bargain, the Laird would put on a necktie and a few other necessary +things, and the three friends would walk arm-in-arm to Taffy's hotel +in the Rue de Seine, and wait outside till he had made himself as +presentable as the Laird, which did not take very long. And then +(Little Billee was always presentable) they would, arm-in-arm, the +huge Taffy in the middle, descend the Rue de Seine and cross a bridge +to the Cité, and have a look in at the Morgue. Then back again to the +quays on the Rive Gauche by the Pont Neuf, to wend their way westward; +now on one side to look at the print and picture shops and the +magasins of bric-à-brac, and haply sometimes buy thereof, now on the +other to finger and cheapen the second-hand books for sale on the +parapet, and even pick one or two utterly unwanted bargains, never to +be read or opened again. + +When they reached the Pont des Arts they would cross it, stopping in +the middle to look up the river towards the old Cité and Notre Dame, +eastward, and dream unutterable things and try to utter them. Then +turning westward, they would gaze at the glowing sky and all it glowed +upon--the corner of the Tuileries and the Louvre, the many bridges, +the Chamber of Deputies, the golden river narrowing its perspective +and broadening its bed, as it went flowing and winding on its way +between Passy and Grenelle to St. Cloud, to Rouen, to the Havre, to +England perhaps--where _they_ didn't want to be just then; and they +would try and express themselves to the effect that life was +uncommonly well worth living in that particular city at that +particular time of the day and year and century, at that particular +epoch of their own mortal and uncertain lives. + +Then, still arm-in-arm and chatting gayly, across the court-yard of +the Louvre, through gilded gates well guarded by reckless imperial +Zouaves, up the arcaded Rue de Rivoli as far as the Rue Castiglione, +where they would stare with greedy eyes at the window of the great +corner pastry-cook, and marvel at the beautiful assortment of bonbons, +pralines, dragées, marrons glacés--saccharine, crystalline substances +of all kinds and colors, as charming to look at as an illumination; +precious stones, delicately frosted sweets, pearls and diamonds so +arranged as to melt in the mouth; especially, at this particular time +of the year, the monstrous Easter eggs of enchanting hue, enshrined +like costly jewels in caskets of satin and gold; and the Laird, who +was well read in his English classics and liked to show it, would +opine that "they managed these things better in France." + +Then across the street by a great gate into the Allée des Feuillants, +and up to the Place de la Concorde--to gaze, but quite without base +envy, at the smart people coming back from the Bois de Boulogne. For +even in Paris "carriage people" have a way of looking bored, of taking +their pleasure sadly, of having nothing to say to each other, as +though the vibration of so many wheels all rolling home the same way +every afternoon had hypnotized them into silence, idiocy, and +melancholia. + +And our three musketeers of the brush would speculate on the vanity of +wealth and rank and fashion; on the satiety that follows in the wake +of self-indulgence and overtakes it; on the weariness of the pleasures +that become a toil--as if they knew all about it, had found it all out +for themselves, and nobody else had ever found it out before! + +Then they found out something else--namely, that the sting of healthy +appetite was becoming intolerable; so they would betake themselves to +an English eating-house in the Rue de la Madeleine (on the left-hand +side near the top), where they would renovate their strength and their +patriotism on British beef and beer, and household bread, and bracing, +biting, stinging yellow mustard, and horseradish, and noble +apple-pie, and Cheshire cheese; and get through as much of these in an +hour or so as they could for talking, talking, talking; such happy +talk! as full of sanguine hope and enthusiasm, of cocksure +commendation or condemnation of all painters, dead or alive, of modest +but firm belief in themselves and each other, as a Paris Easter egg is +full of sweets and pleasantness (for the young). + +And then a stroll on the crowded, well-lighted boulevards, and a bock +at the café there, at a little three-legged marble table right out on +the genial asphalt pavement, still talking nineteen to the dozen. + +Then home by dark old silent streets and some deserted bridge to their +beloved Latin Quarter, the Morgue gleaming cold and still and fatal in +the pale lamplight, and Notre Dame pricking up its watchful twin +towers, which have looked down for so many centuries on so many happy, +sanguine, expansive youths walking arm-in-arm by twos and threes, and +forever talking, talking, talking.... + +The Laird and Little Billee would see Taffy safe to the door of his +_hôtel garni_ in the Rue de Seine, where they would find much to say +to each other before they said good-night--so much that Taffy and +Little Billee would see the Laird safe to _his_ door, in the Place St. +Anatole des Arts. And then a discussion would arise between Taffy and +the Laird on the immortality of the soul, let us say, or the exact +meaning of the word "gentleman," or the relative merits of Dickens and +Thackeray, or some such recondite and quite unhackneyed theme, and +Taffy and the Laird would escort Little Billee to _his_ door, in the +Place de l'Odéon, and he would re-escort them both back again, and so +on till any hour you please. + +Or again, if it rained, and Paris through the studio window loomed +lead-colored, with its shiny slate roofs under skies that were ashen +and sober, and the wild west wind made woeful music among the +chimney-pots, and little gray waves ran up the river the wrong way, +and the Morgue looked chill and dark and wet, and almost uninviting +(even to three healthy-minded young Britons), they would resolve to +dine and spend a happy evening at home. + +Little Billee, taking with him three francs (or even four), would dive +into back streets and buy a yard or so of crusty new bread, well +burned on the flat side, a fillet of beef, a litre of wine, potatoes +and onions, butter, a little cylindrical cheese called "bondon de +Neufchâtel," tender curly lettuce, with chervil, parsley, spring +onions, and other fine herbs, and a pod of garlic, which would be +rubbed on a crust of bread to flavor things with. + +Taffy would lay the cloth English-wise, and also make the salad, for +which, like everybody else I ever met, he had a special receipt of his +own (putting in the oil first and the vinegar after); and indeed, his +salads were quite as good as everybody else's. + +The Laird, bending over the stove, would cook the onions and beef into +a savory Scotch mess so cunningly that you could not taste the beef +for the onions--nor always the onions for the garlic! + +And they would dine far better than at le Père Trin's, far better than +at the English Restaurant in the Rue de la Madeleine--better than +anywhere else on earth! + +And after dinner, what coffee, roasted and ground on the spot, what +pipes and cigarettes of "caporal," by the light of the three shaded +lamps, while the rain beat against the big north window, and the wind +went howling round the quaint old medieval tower at the corner of the +Rue Vieille des Mauvais Ladres (the old street of the bad lepers), +and the damp logs hissed and crackled in the stove! + +What jolly talk into the small hours! Thackeray and Dickens again, and +Tennyson and Byron (who was "not dead yet" in those days); and Titian +and Velasquez, and young Millais and Holman Hunt (just out); and +Monsieur Ingres and Monsieur Delacroix, and Balzac and Stendhal and +George Sand; and the good Dumas! and Edgar Allan Poe; and the glory +that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome.... + +Good, honest, innocent, artless prattle--not of the wisest, perhaps, +nor redolent of the very highest culture (which by the way can mar as +well as make), nor leading to any very practical result; but quite +pathetically sweet from the sincerity and fervor of its convictions, a +profound belief in their importance, and a proud trust in their +lifelong immutability. + +Oh happy days and happy nights, sacred to art and friendship! oh happy +times of careless impecuniosity, and youth and hope and health and +strength and freedom--with all Paris for a playground, and its dear +old unregenerate Latin Quarter for a workshop and a home! + + + +CHRISTMAS IN THE LATIN QUARTER + +From 'Trilby.' Copyright, 1894, by Harper & Brothers + + +Christmas was drawing near. + +There were days when the whole Quartier Latin would veil its +iniquities under fogs almost worthy of the Thames Valley between +London Bridge and Westminster, and out of the studio window the +prospect was a dreary blank. No Morgue! no towers of Notre Dame! not +even the chimney-pots over the way--not even the little mediæval toy +turret at the corner of the Rue Vieille des Mauvais Ladres, Little +Billee's delight! + +The stove had to be crammed till its sides grew a dull deep red, +before one's fingers could hold a brush or squeeze a bladder; one had +to box or fence at nine in the morning, that one might recover from +the cold bath and get warm for the rest of the day! + +Taffy and the Laird grew pensive and dreamy, childlike and bland; and +when they talked, it was generally about Christmas at home in merry +England and the distant land of cakes, and how good it was to be there +at such a time--hunting, shooting, curling, and endless carouse! + +It was Ho! for the jolly West Riding, and Hey! for the bonnets of +Bonnie Dundee, till they grew quite homesick, and wanted to start by +the very next train. + +They didn't do anything so foolish. They wrote over to friends in +London for the biggest turkey, the biggest plum-pudding, that could be +got for love or money, with mince-pies, and holly and mistletoe, and +sturdy, short, thick English sausages, half a Stilton cheese, and a +sirloin of beef--two sirloins, in case one should not be enough. + +For they meant to have a Homeric feast in the studio on Christmas +Day--Taffy, the Laird, and Little Billee--and invite all the +delightful chums I have been trying to describe; and that is just why +I tried to describe them--Durien, Vincent, Antony, Lorrimer, Carnegie, +Petrolicoconose, l'Zouzou, and Dodor! + +The cooking and waiting should be done by Trilby, her friend Angèle +Boisse, M. et Mme. Vinard, and such little Vinards as could be trusted +with glass and crockery and mince-pies; and if that was not enough, +they would also cook themselves and wait upon each other. + +When dinner should be over, supper was to follow, with scarcely any +interval to speak of; and to partake of this, other guests should be +bidden--Svengali and Gecko, and perhaps one or two more. No ladies! + +For as the unsusceptible Laird expressed it, in the language of a +gillie he had once met at a servants' dance in a Highland +country-house, "Them wimmen spiles the ball!" + +Elaborate cards of invitation were sent out, in the designing and +ornamentation of which the Laird and Taffy exhausted all their fancy +(Little Billee had no time). + +Wines and spirits and English beers were procured at great cost from +M. E. Delevigne's, in the Rue St. Honoré, and liqueurs of every +description--chartreuse, curaçoa, ratafia de cassis, and anisette; no +expense was spared. + +Also truffled galantines of turkey, tongues, hams, rillettes de Tours, +pâtés de foie gras, "fromage d'Italie" (which has nothing to do with +cheese), saucissons d'Arles et de Lyon, with and without garlic, cold +jellies, peppery and salt--everything that French charcutiers and +their wives can make out of French pigs, or any other animal whatever, +beast, bird, or fowl (even cats and rats), for the supper; and sweet +jellies and cakes, and sweetmeats, and confections of all kinds, from +the famous pastry-cook at the corner of the Rue Castiglione. + +Mouths went watering all day long in joyful anticipation. They water +somewhat sadly now at the mere remembrance of these delicious +things--the mere immediate sight or scent of which in these degenerate +latter days would no longer avail to promote any such delectable +secretion. Hélas! ahimè! ach weh! ay de mi! eheu! [Greek: oimot]--in +point of fact, _alas_! + +That is the very exclamation I wanted. + +Christmas eve came round. The pieces of resistance and plum-pudding +and mince-pies had not yet arrived from London--but there was plenty +of time. + +_Les trois Angliches_ dined at le Père Trin's, as usual, and played +billiards and dominoes at the Café du Luxembourg, and possessed their +souls in patience till it was time to go and hear the midnight mass at +the Madeleine, where Roucouly, the great baritone of the Opéra +Comique, was retained to sing Adam's famous Noël. + +The whole Quarter seemed alive with the réveillon. It was a clear +frosty night, with a splendid moon just past the full, and most +exhilarating was the walk along the quays on the Rive Gauche, over the +Pont de la Concorde and across the Place thereof, and up the thronged +Rue de la Madeleine to the massive Parthenaic place of worship that +always has such a pagan, worldly look of smug and prosperous +modernity. + +They struggled manfully, and found standing and kneeling room among +that fervent crowd, and heard the impressive service with mixed +feelings, as became true Britons of very advanced liberal and +religious opinions; not with the unmixed contempt of the proper +British Orthodox (who were there in full force, one may be sure). + +But their susceptible hearts soon melted at the beautiful music, and +in mere sensuous _attendrissement_ they were quickly in unison with +all the rest. + +For as the clock struck twelve, out pealed the organ, and up rose the +finest voice in France: + + "Minuit, Chrétiens! c'est l'heure solennelle + Où l'Homme-Dieu descendit parmi nous!" + +And a wave of religious emotion rolled over Little Billee and +submerged him; swept him off his little legs, swept him out of his +little self, drowned him in a great seething surge of love--love of +his kind, love of love, love of life, love of death, love of all that +is and ever was and ever will be--a very large order indeed, even for +Little Billee. + +And it seemed to him that he stretched out his arms for love to one +figure especially beloved beyond all the rest--one figure erect on +high, with arms outstretched to him, in more than common fellowship of +need: not the sorrowful Figure crowned with thorns, for it was in the +likeness of a woman; but never that of the Virgin Mother of our Lord. + +It was Trilby, Trilby, Trilby! a poor fallen sinner and waif, all but +lost amid the scum of the most corrupt city on earth. Trilby, weak and +mortal like himself, and in woeful want of pardon! and in her gray +dove-like eyes he saw the shining of so great a love that he was +abashed; for well he knew that all that love was his, and would be his +forever, come what would or could. + + "Peuple, debout! Chante ta délivrance! + _Noël! Noël! Voici le Rédempteur!_" + +So sang and rang and pealed and echoed the big deep metallic baritone +bass--above the organ, above the incense, above everything else in the +world--till the very universe seemed to shake with the rolling thunder +of that great message of love and forgiveness! + +Thus at least felt Little Billee, whose way it was to magnify and +exaggerate all things under the subtle stimulus of sound, and the +singing human voice had especially strange power to penetrate into his +inmost depths--even the voice of man! + +And what voice but the deepest and gravest and grandest there is, can +give worthy utterance to such a message as that,--the epitome, the +abstract, the very essence of all collective humanity's wisdom at its +best! + + + +"DREAMING TRUE" + +From 'Peter Ibbetson.' Copyright 1891, by Harper & Brothers + + +As I sat down on a bench by the old willow (where the rat lived), and +gazed and gazed, it almost surprised me that the very intensity of my +desire did not of itself suffice to call up the old familiar faces and +forms, and conjure away these modern intruders. The power to do this +seemed almost within my reach: I willed and willed and willed with all +my might, but in vain; I could not cheat my sight or hearing for a +moment. There they remained, unconscious and undisturbed, those happy, +well-mannered, well-appointed little French people, and fed the gold +and silver fish; and there with an aching heart I left them. + +Oh, surely, surely, I cried to myself, we ought to find some means of +possessing the past more fully and completely than we do. Life is not +worth living for many of us, if a want so desperate and yet so natural +can never be satisfied. Memory is but a poor rudimentary thing that we +had better be without, if it can only lead us to the verge of +consummation like this, and madden us with a desire it cannot slake. +The touch of a vanished hand, the sound of a voice that is still, the +tender grace of a day that is dead, should be ours forever at our beck +and call, by some exquisite and quite conceivable illusion of the +senses. + +Alas! alas! I have hardly the hope of ever meeting my beloved ones +again in another life. Oh, to meet their too dimly remembered forms in +this, just as they once were, by some trick of my own brain! To see +them with the eye, and hear them with the ear, and tread with them the +old obliterated ways as in a waking dream! It would be well worth +going mad, to become such a self-conjurer as that. + + * * * * * + +I got back to my hotel in the Rue de la Michodière. + +Prostrate with emotion and fatigue, the tarantella still jingling in +my ears, and that haunting, beloved face, with its ineffable smile, +still printed on the retina of my closed eyes, I fell asleep. + +And then I dreamed a dream, and the first phase of my real, inner life +began! + +All the events of the day, distorted and exaggerated and jumbled +together after the usual manner of dreams, wove themselves into a kind +of nightmare and oppression. I was on my way to my old abode; +everything that I met or saw was grotesque and impossible, yet had now +the strange, vague charm of association and reminiscence, now the +distressing sense of change and desolation. + +As I got near to the avenue gate, instead of the school on my left +there was a prison; and at the door a little thick-set jailer, three +feet high and much deformed, and a little deformed jaileress no bigger +than himself, were cunningly watching me out of the corners of their +eyes, and toothlessly smiling. Presently they began to waltz together +to an old familiar tune, with their enormous keys dangling at their +sides; and they looked so funny that I laughed and applauded. But soon +I perceived that their crooked faces were not really funny; indeed, +they were fatal and terrible in the extreme, and I was soon conscious +that these deadly dwarfs were trying to waltz between me and the +avenue gate for which I was bound--to cut me off, that they might run +me into the prison, where it was their custom to hang people of a +Monday morning. + +In an agony of terror I made a rush for the avenue gate, and there +stood the Duchess of Towers, with mild surprise in her eyes and a kind +smile--a heavenly vision of strength and reality. + +"You are not dreaming true!" she said. "Don't be afraid--those little +people don't exist! Give me your hand and come in here." + +And as I did so she waved the troglodytes away, and they vanished; and +I felt that this was no longer a dream, but something else--some +strange thing that had happened to me, some new life that I had woke +up to. + +For at the touch of her hand my consciousness, my sense of being I, +myself, which hitherto in my dream (as in all previous dreams up to +then) had been only partial, intermittent, and vague, suddenly blazed +into full, consistent, practical activity--just as it is in life, when +one is well awake and much interested in what is going on; only with +perceptions far keener and more alert. + +I knew perfectly who I was and what I was, and remembered all the +events of the previous day. I was conscious that my real body, +undressed and in bed, now lay fast asleep in a small room on the +fourth floor of an _hôtel garni_ in the Rue de la Michodière. I knew +this perfectly; and yet here was my body too, just as substantial, +with all my clothes on; my boots rather dusty, my shirt collar damp +with the heat, for it was hot. With my disengaged hand I felt in my +trousers pocket; there were my London latch-key, my purse, my +penknife; my handkerchief in the breast pocket of my coat, and in its +tail pockets my gloves and pipe-case, and the little water-color box I +had bought that morning. I looked at my watch; it was going, and +marked eleven. I pinched myself, I coughed, I did all one usually does +under the pressure of some immense surprise, to assure myself that I +was awake; and I _was_, and yet here I stood, actually hand in hand +with a lady to whom I had never been introduced (and who seemed much +tickled at my confusion); and staring now at her, now at my old +school. + +The prison had tumbled down like a house of cards, and lo! in its +place was M. Saindou's _maison d'éducation_, just as it had been of +old. I even recognized on the yellow wall the stamp of a hand in dry +mud, made fifteen years ago by a day boy called Parisot, who had +fallen down in the gutter close by, and thus left his mark on getting +up again; and it had remained there for months, till it had been +whitewashed away in the holidays. Here it was anew, after fifteen +years. + +The swallows were flying and twittering. A yellow omnibus was drawn up +to the gates of the school; the horses stamped and neighed, and bit +each other, as French horses always did in those days. The driver +swore at them perfunctorily. + +A crowd was looking on--le Père et la Mère François, Madame Liard the +grocer's wife, and other people, whom I remembered at once with +delight. Just in front of us a small boy and girl were looking on, +like the rest, and I recognized the back and the cropped head and thin +legs of Mimsey Seraskier. + +A barrel organ was playing a pretty tune I knew quite well, and had +forgotten. + +The school gates opened, and M. Saindou, proud and full of +self-importance (as he always was), and half a dozen boys whose faces +and names were quite familiar to me, in smart white trousers and +shining boots, and silken white bands round their left arms, got into +the omnibus, and were driven away in a glorified manner--as it +seemed--to heaven in a golden chariot. It was beautiful to see and +hear. + +I was still holding the duchess's hand, and felt the warmth of it +through her glove; it stole up my arm like a magnetic current. I was +in Elysium; a heavenly sense had come over me that at last my +periphery had been victoriously invaded by a spirit other than mine--a +most powerful and beneficent spirit. There was a blessed fault in my +impenetrable armor of self, after all, and the genius of strength and +charity and loving-kindness had found it out. + +"Now you're dreaming true," she said. "Where are those boys going?" + +"To church, to make their _première communion_," I replied. + +"That's right. You're dreaming true because I've got you by the hand. +Do you know that tune?" + +I listened, and the words belonging to it came out of the past, and I +said them to her, and she laughed again, with her eyes screwed up +deliciously. + +"Quite right--quite!" she exclaimed. "How odd that you should know +them! How well you pronounce French for an Englishman! For you are Mr. +Ibbetson, Lady Cray's architect?" + +I assented, and she let go my hand. + +The street was full of people--familiar forms and faces and voices, +chatting together and looking down the road after the yellow omnibus; +old attitudes, old tricks of gait and manner, old forgotten French +ways of speech--all as it was long ago. Nobody noticed us, and we +walked up the now deserted avenue. + +The happiness, the enchantment of it all! Could it be that I was dead, +that I had died suddenly in my sleep, at the hotel in the Rue de la +Michodière? Could it be that the Duchess of Towers was dead too--had +been killed by some accident on her way from St. Cloud to Paris? and +that, both having died, so near each other, we had begun our eternal +after-life in this heavenly fashion? + +That was too good to be true, I reflected; some instinct told me that +this was not death, but transcendent earthly life--and also, alas! +that it would not endure forever! + +I was deeply conscious of every feature in her face, every movement of +her body, every detail of her dress,--more so than I could have been +in actual life,--and said to myself, "Whatever this is, it is no +dream." But I felt there was about me the unspeakable elation which +can come to us only in our waking moments when we are at our very +best; and then only feebly, in comparison with this, and to many of us +never. It never had to me, since that morning when I had found the +little wheelbarrow. + +I was also conscious, however, that the avenue itself had a slight +touch of the dream in it. It was no longer quite right, and was +getting out of drawing and perspective, so to speak. I had lost my +stay--the touch of her hand. + +"Are you still dreaming true, Mr. Ibbetson?" + +"I am afraid not quite," I replied. + +"You must try by yourself a little--try hard. Look at this house; what +is written on the portico?" + +I saw written in gold letters the words "Tête Noire," and said so. + +She rippled with laughter, and said, "No, try again;" and just touched +me with the tip of her finger for a moment. + +I tried again, and said "Parvis Notre Dame." + +"That's rather better," she said, and touched me again; and I read, +"Parva sed Apta," as I had so often read there before in old days. + +"And now look at that old house over there," pointing to my old home; +"how many windows are there in the top story?" + +I said seven. + +"No; there are five. Look again!" and there were five; and the whole +house was exactly, down to its minutest detail, as it had been once +upon a time. I could see Thérèse through one of the windows, making my +bed. + +"That's better," said the duchess; "you will soon do it--it's very +easy--_ce n'est que le premier pas_! My father taught me; you must +always sleep on your back with your arms above your head, your hands +clasped under it and your feet crossed, the right one over the left, +unless you are left-handed; and you must never for a moment cease +thinking of where you want to be in your dream till you are asleep and +get there; and you must never forget in your dream where and what you +were when awake. You must join the dream on to reality. Don't forget. +And now I will say good-by; but before I go, give me both your hands, +and look round everywhere as far as your eye can see." + +It was hard to look away from her; her face drew my eyes, and through +them all my heart; but I did as she told me, and took in the whole +familiar scene, even to the distant woods of Ville d'Avray, a glimpse +of which was visible through an opening in the trees; even to the +smoke of a train making its way to Versailles, miles off; and the old +telegraph, working its black arms on the top of Mont Valérien. + +"Is it all right?" she asked. "That's well. Henceforward, whenever you +come here, you will be safe as far as your sight can reach,--from this +spot,--all through my introduction. See what it is to have a friend at +court! No more little dancing jailers! And then you can gradually get +farther by yourself. + +"Out there, through that park, leads to the Bois de Boulogne--there's +a gap in the hedge you can get through; but mind and make everything +plain in front of you--_true_, before you go a step farther, or else +you'll have to wake and begin it all over again. You have only to will +it, and think yourself as awake, and it will come--on condition, of +course, that you have been there before. And mind, also, you must take +care how you touch things or people--you may hear, see, and smell; but +you mustn't touch, nor pick flowers or leaves, nor move things about. +It blurs the dream, like breathing on a window-pane. I don't know why, +but it does. You must remember that everything here is dead and gone +by. With you and me it is different; we're alive and real--that is, +_I_ am; and there would seem to be no mistake about your being real +too, Mr. Ibbetson, by the grasp of your hands. But you're _not_; and +why you are here, and what business you have in this my particular +dream, I cannot understand; no living person has ever come into it +before. I can't make it out. I suppose it's because I saw your reality +this afternoon, looking out of the window at the Tête Noire, and you +are just a stray figment of my over-tired brain--a very agreeable +figment, I admit; but you don't exist here just now--you can't +possibly; you are somewhere else, Mr. Ibbetson; dancing at Mabille, +perhaps, or fast asleep somewhere, and dreaming of French churches and +palaces, and public fountains, like a good young British +architect--otherwise I shouldn't talk to you like this, you may be +sure! + +"Never mind. I am very glad to dream that I have been of use to you, +and you are very welcome here, if it amuses you to come--especially as +you are only a false dream of mine, for what else _can_ you be? And +now I must leave you: so good-by." + +She disengaged her hands and laughed her angelic laugh, and then +turned towards the park. I watched her tall straight figure and +blowing skirts, and saw her follow some ladies and children into a +thicket that I remembered well, and she was soon out of sight. + +I felt as if all warmth had gone out of my life; as if a joy had taken +flight; as if a precious something had withdrawn itself from my +possession, and the gap in my periphery had closed again. + +Long I stood in thought, with my eyes fixed on the spot where she had +disappeared; and I felt inclined to follow, but then considered this +would not have been discreet. For although she was only a false dream +of mine, a mere recollection of the exciting and eventful day, a stray +figment of my over-tired and excited brain--a _more_ than agreeable +figment (what else _could_ she be!)--she was also a great lady, and +had treated me, a perfect stranger and a perfect nobody, with singular +courtesy and kindness; which I repaid, it is true, with a love so deep +and strong that my very life was hers to do what she liked with, and +always had been since I first saw her, and always would be as long as +there was breath in my body! But this did not constitute an +acquaintance without a proper introduction, even in France--even in a +dream. Even in dreams one must be polite, even to stray figments of +one's tired, sleeping brain. + +And then what business had _she_ in _this_, _my_ particular dream--as +she herself had asked of me? + +But _was_ it a dream? I remembered my lodgings at Pentonville, that I +had left yesterday morning. I remembered what I was--why I came to +Paris; I remembered the very bedroom at the Paris hotel where I was +now fast asleep, its loudly ticking clock, and all the meagre +furniture. And here was I, broad awake and conscious in the middle of +an old avenue that had long ceased to exist--that had been built over +by a huge brick edifice covered with newly painted trellis-work. I saw +it,--this edifice,--myself, only twelve hours ago. And yet here was +everything as it had been when I was a child; and all through the +agency of this solid phantom of a lovely young English duchess, whose +warm gloved hands I had only this minute been holding in mine! The +scent of her gloves was still in my palm. I looked at my watch; it +marked twenty-three minutes to twelve. All this had happened in less +than three-quarters of an hour! + +Pondering over all this in hopeless bewilderment, I turned my steps +towards my old home, and to my surprise, was just able to look over +the garden wall, which I had once thought about ten feet high. + +Under the old apple-tree in full bloom sat my mother, darning small +socks; with her flaxen side-curls (as it was her fashion to wear them) +half concealing her face. My emotion and astonishment were immense. My +heart beat fast. I felt its pulse in my temples, and my breath was +short. + +At a little green table that I remembered well sat a small boy, rather +quaintly dressed in a bygone fashion, with a frill round his wide +shirt collar, and his golden hair cut quite close at the top, and +rather long at the sides and back. It was Gogo Pasquier. He seemed a +very nice little boy. He had pen and ink and copy-book before him, and +a gilt-edged volume bound in red morocco. I knew it at a glance; it +was 'Elegant Extracts.' The dog Médor lay asleep in the shade. The +bees were droning among the nasturtiums and convolvulus. + +A little girl ran up the avenue from the porter's lodge and pushed the +garden gate, which rang the bell as it opened, and she went into the +garden, and I followed her; but she took no notice of me, nor did the +others. It was Mimsey Seraskier. + +I went and sat at my mother's feet, and looked long in her face. + +I must not speak to her nor touch her--not even touch her busy hand +with my lips, or I should "blur the dream." + +I got up and looked over the boy Gogo's shoulder. He was translating +Gray's Elegy into French; he had not got very far, and seemed to be +stumped by the line-- + + "And leaves the world to darkness and to me." + +Mimsey was silently looking over his other shoulder, her thumb in her +mouth, one arm on the back of his chair. She seemed to be stumped +also; it was an awkward line to translate. + +I stooped and put my hand to Médor's nose, and felt his warm breath. +He wagged his rudiment of a tail, and whimpered in his sleep. Mimsey +said:-- + +"Regarde Médor, comme il remue la queue! _C'est le Prince Charmant qui +lui chatouille le bout du nez._" + +Said my mother, who had not spoken hitherto:-- + +"Do speak English, Mimsey, please." + +O my God! My mother's voice, so forgotten, yet so familiar, so +unutterably dear! I rushed to her and threw myself on my knees at her +feet, and seized her hand and kissed it, crying, "Mother, mother!" + +A strange blur came over everything; the sense of reality was lost. +All became as a dream--a beautiful dream, but only a dream; and I +woke. + + + +BARTY JOSSELIN AT SCHOOL + +From 'The Martian' + +From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1896, by Harper & Brothers + + +Indeed, even from his early boyhood, he was the most extraordinarily +gifted creature I have ever known, or even heard of; a kind of +spontaneous humorous Crichton to whom all things came easily--and life +itself as an uncommonly good joke. During that summer term of 1847 I +did not see very much of him. He was in the class below mine, and took +up with Laferté and little Bussy-Rabutin, who were first-rate boys, +and laughed at everything he said, and worshiped him. So did everybody +else, sooner or later; indeed, it soon became evident that he was a +most exceptional little person. + +In the first place, his beauty was absolutely angelic, as will be +readily believed by all who have known him since. The mere sight of +him as a boy made people pity his father and mother for being dead! + +Then he had a charming gift of singing little French and English +ditties, comic or touching, with his delightful fresh young pipe, and +accompanying himself quite nicely on either piano or guitar without +really knowing a note of music. Then he could draw caricatures that +we boys thought inimitable, much funnier than Cham's or Bertall's or +Gavarni's, and collected and treasured up. I have dozens of them +now--they make me laugh still, and bring back memories of which the +charm is indescribable; and their pathos to me! + +And then how funny he was himself, without effort, and with a fun that +never failed! He was a born buffoon of the graceful kind,--more whelp +or kitten than monkey--ever playing the fool, in and out of season, +but somehow always apropos; and French boys love a boy for that more +than anything else; or did in those days. + + * * * * * + +His constitution, inherited from a long line of frugal seafaring +Norman ancestors (not to mention another long line of well-fed, +well-bred Yorkshire squires), was magnificent. His spirits never +failed. He could see the satellites of Jupiter with the naked eye; +this was often tested by M. Dumollard, maître de mathématiques (et de +cosmographie), who had a telescope, which, with a little good-will on +the gazer's part, made Jupiter look as big as the moon, and its moons +like stars of the first magnitude. + +His sense of hearing was also exceptionally keen. He could hear a +watch tick in the next room, and perceive very high sounds to which +ordinary human ears are deaf (this was found out later); and when we +played blindman's buff on a rainy day, he could, blindfolded, tell +every boy he caught hold of--not by feeling him all over like the rest +of us, but by the mere smell of his hair, or his hands, or his blouse! +No wonder he was so much more alive than the rest of us! According to +the amiable, modest, polite, delicately humorous, and ever tolerant +and considerate Professor Max Nordau, this perfection of the olfactory +sense proclaims poor Barty a degenerate! I only wish there were a few +more like him, and that I were a little more like him myself! + +By the way, how proud young Germany must feel of its enlightened Max, +and how fond of him, to be sure! _Mes compliments!_ + +But the most astounding thing of all (it seems incredible, but all the +world knows it by this time, and it will be accounted for later on) is +that at certain times and seasons Barty knew by an infallible instinct +_where the north was_, to a point. Most of my readers will remember +his extraordinary evidence as a witness in the "Rangoon" trial, and +how this power was tested in open court, and how important were the +issues involved, and how he refused to give any explanation of a gift +so extraordinary. + +It was often tried at school by blindfolding him, and turning him +round and round till he was giddy, and asking him to point out where +the North Pole was, or the North Star, and seven or eight times out of +ten the answer was unerringly right. When he failed, he knew +beforehand that for the time being he had lost the power, but could +never say why. Little Doctor Larcher could never get over his surprise +at this strange phenomenon, nor explain it; and often brought some +scientific friend from Paris to test it, who was equally nonplussed. + +When cross-examined, Barty would merely say:-- + +"Quelquefois je sais--quelquefois je ne sais pas--mais quand je sais, +je sais, et il n'y pas à s'y tromper!" + +Indeed, on one occasion that I remember well a very strange thing +happened; he not only pointed out the north with absolute accuracy, as +he stood carefully blindfolded in the gymnastic ground, after having +been turned and twisted again and again--but still blindfolded, he +vaulted the wire fence and ran round to the refectory door, which +served as the home at rounders, all of us following; and there he +danced a surprising dance of his own invention, that he called 'La +Paladine,' the most humorously graceful and grotesque exhibition I +ever saw; and then, taking a ball out of his pocket, he shouted, "À +l'amandier!" and threw the ball. Straight and swift it flew, and hit +the almond tree, which was quite twenty yards off; and after this he +ran round the yard from base to base, as at "la balle au camp," till +he reached the camp again. + +"If ever he goes blind," said the wondering M. Mérovée, "he'll never +need a dog to lead him about." + +"He must have some special friend above!" said Madame Germain +(Mérovée's sister, who was looking on). + +_Prophetic words!_ I have never forgotten them, nor the tear that +glistened in each of her kind eyes as she spoke. She was a deeply +religious and very emotional person, and loved Barty almost as if he +were a child of her own. + +Such women have strange intuitions. + +Barty was often asked to repeat this astonishing performance before +skeptical people--parents of boys, visitors, etc.--who had been told +of it, and who believed he could not have been properly blindfolded; +but he could never be induced to do so. + +There was no mistake about the blindfolding--I helped in it myself; +and he afterwards told me the whole thing was "aussi simple que +bonjour" if once he felt the north--for then, with his back to the +refectory door, he knew exactly the position and distance of every +tree from where he was. + +"It's all nonsense about my going blind and being able to do without a +dog," he added; "I should be just as helpless as any other blind man, +unless I was in a place I knew as well as my own pocket--like this +play-ground! Besides, _I_ shan't go blind; nothing will ever happen to +_my_ eyes--they're the strongest and best in the whole school!" + +He said this exultingly, dilating his nostrils and chest; and looked +proudly up and around, like Ajax defying the lightning. + +"But what _do_ you feel when you feel the north, Barty--a kind of +tingling?" I asked. + +"Oh--I feel where it is--as if I'd got a mariner's compass trembling +inside my stomach--and as if I wasn't afraid of anybody or anything in +the world--as if I could go and have my head chopped off and not care +a fig." + +"Ah, well--I can't make it out--I give it up," I exclaimed. + +"So do I," exclaims Barty. + +"But tell me, Barty," I whispered--"_have_ you--have you _really_ got +a--a--_special friend above_?" + +"Ask no questions and you'll get no lies," said Barty, and winked at +me one eye after the other--and went about his business, and I about +mine. + + + + +WILLIAM DUNBAR + +(1465?-1530?) + + +A picturesque figure in a picturesque age is that of William Dunbar, +court minstrel to James IV., and as Sir Walter Scott declared, "a poet +unrivaled by any that Scotland has ever produced." Little of his +personal history is known. Probably he was a native of East Lothian, +a member of the family of the Earl of March, and a graduate of St. +Andrews University about the year 1479. After his college days he +joined the order of Franciscans and became a mendicant friar, +preaching the queer sermons of his time, and begging his way through +England and France. Yet in these pilgrimages the young scholar learned +useful habits of self-denial, saw new phases of human character, and +above all enjoyed that close communion with nature which is the need +of the poet. Over and over there is a reflection of this life in that +fanciful verse, which has caught the color of the morning hours when +the hedgerows are wet and the grass dewy, when the wild roses scent +the roadside and the lark is at matins--verse full of the joy of life +and the hope of youth. + +After some years of this vagabond life, Dunbar left the Franciscans +and attached himself to the court, where he speedily became a +favorite. His day was one of pageant and show, of masque and +spectacle, and into its gay assemblage of knights and courtiers, +ladies and great nobles, Dunbar fitted perfectly. When an embassy was +sent to England to negotiate the royal marriage with Margaret Tudor, +Dunbar went along, being specially accredited by the king. He became a +favorite with the young Princess, and a poem written in honor of the +city of London, and one descriptive of the Queen's Progress, afford a +faithful and valuable memorial of this mission. History is fortunate +when she secures a poet as her scribe. Dunbar is principally known by +his three poems 'The Thistle and the Rose,' 'The Golden Targe,' and +'The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins.' + +The first of these is an allegory celebrating the nuptials of the +king. It suggests of course the allegories of Chaucer; but Dunbar's +muse is his own, and the poem springs fresh and clear from native +fonts. The poet represents himself as awakened by Aurora on a spring +morning and told to do homage to May. Through the symbolism of the +court of Nature, who crowns the Lion and Eagle, commissions the +Thistle and Rose as her handmaidens, and orders their praises sung by +the assembled birds of earth, the political significance of the +allegory appears. But 'The Thistle and the Rose,' which is thus made +to illustrate the union between the two great houses of Scotland and +England, is far more than the poem of an occasion. It is full of the +melody and fragrance of spring, saturated with that sensuous delight +which at this bountiful season fills the veins of Nature. Here Dunbar +is no longer the court laureate, but the begging friar, wandering +through the green lanes and finding bed and board under the free +skies. + +'The Golden Targe' is more artificial in construction. It is another +allegory, descriptive of an encounter between Cupid and Reason, who is +defended by a golden targe or shield from the attacks of love. Here +again the rural landscape forms a background to his mimic action. +Amazons dressed in green fight the battle of Cupid, and vanquish +Reason, then magically vanish and leave the poet to awake from his +dream. 'The Golden Targe' was a poem to be read in the royal presence, +when the court assembled after a day's hunting or an afternoon of +archery; but it is filled with the ethereal loveliness which only the +true poet beholds. + +It is in 'The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins' that Dunbar touches the +note of seriousness, which characterizes his race and his individual +genius. This satire is not so unsparing an indictment as the vision of +Piers Ploughman, and yet it provokes inevitable comparison with the +older poem. In a dream the poet sees heaven and hell opened. It is the +eve of Ash Wednesday, and the Devil has commanded a dance to be +performed by those spirits that had never received absolution. In +obedience to this command the Seven Deadly Sins present a masque +before his Satanic Majesty, and it is in the description of this +grisly performance that Dunbar reveals a new aspect of power. The +comedy here is not comic, but grotesque and horrid. The vision of the +Scot is the vision that came to the poets of the 'Inferno' and +'Paradise Lost,' and it shows that his imagination was capable of the +loftiest flights. + +After the melancholy day of Flodden Field, the Scottish laureateship +ceased to exist, but it is remarkable that so prominent a man as +Dunbar should so completely have disappeared from contemporary view +that his subsequent career and the time of his death are matters of +doubt. His period is given as between the years 1465 and 1530, but +these dates are only approximate. + +Had Dunbar held his genius in hand as completely as did Chaucer, his +accomplishment would doubtless have been greater than it was. Yet his +place in literature is that of one of the most important poets of the +fifteenth century, the age of Caxton and bookmaking, the time of that +first flush of radiance which ushered in the full day of Spenser and +Shakespeare. + + + +THE THISTLE AND THE ROSE + + + Quhen Merche wes with variand windis past, + And Appryle had, with her silver schouris, + Tane leif at Nature with ane orient blast, + And lusty May, that muddir is of flouris, + Had maid the birdis to begyn thair houris + Amang the tendir odouris reid and quhyt, + Quhois armony to heir it wes delyt: + + In bed at morrow, sleiping as I lay, + Me thocht Aurora with hir cristall ene + In at the window lukit by the day, + And halsit me, with visage paill and grene; + On quhois hand a lark sang fro the splene:-- + Awalk, luvaris, out of you slomering; + Sé hou the lusty morrow dois up spring. + + Me thocht fresche May befoir my bed up stude, + In weid depaynt of mony diverss hew, + Sobir, benyng, and full of mansuetude, + In brycht atteir of flouris forgit new, + Hevinly of color, quhyt, reid, broun and blew, + Balmit in dew, and gilt with Phebus bemys; + Quhyll all the house illumynit of her lemys. + + Slugird, sche said, awalk annone for schame, + And in my honour sum thing thou go wryt; + The lark hes done the mirry day proclame, + To raise up luvaris with confort and delyt; + Yit nocht incressis thy curage to indyt, + Quhois hairt sum tyme hes glaid and blisfull bene, + Sangis to mak undir the levis grene. + + Than callit sche all flouris that grew on feild, + Discirnyng all thair fassionis and effeiris, + Upone the awfull Thrissil sche beheld, + And saw him kepit with a busche of speiris; + Considering him so able for the weiris, + A radius croun of rubeis sche him gaif, + And said, In feild go furth and fend the laif: + + And sen thou art a King, thou be discreit; + Herb without vertew thow hald nocht of sic pryce + As herb of vertew and of odour sueit; + And lat no nettill vyle, and full of vyce, + Hir fallow to the gudly flour-de-lyce; + Nor latt no wyld weid, full of churlicheness, + Compair hir till the lilleis nobilness. + + Nor hald non udir flour in sic denty + As the fresche Rois, of cullour reid and quhyt: + For gife thow dois, hurt is thyne honesty; + Considring that no flour is so perfyt, + So full of vertew, plesans, and delyt, + So full of blisful angeilik bewty, + Imperiall birth, honour and dignité. + + + +FROM 'THE GOLDEN TARGE' + + + Bryght as the stern of day begouth to schyne + Quhen gone to bed war Vesper and Lucyne, + I raise, and by a rosere did me rest: + Up sprang the goldyn candill matutyne, + With clere depurit bemes cristallyne + Glading the mery foulis in thair nest; + Or Phebus was in purpur cape revest + Up raise the lark, the hevyn's menstrale fyne + In May, in till a morrow myrthfullest. + + Full angellike thir birdis sang thair houris + Within thair courtyns grene, in to thair bouris, + Apparalit quhite and red, wyth blomes suete; + Anamalit was the felde with all colouris, + The perly droppis schuke in silvir schouris; + Quhill all in balme did branch and levis flete, + To part fra Phebus did Aurora grete; + Hir cristall teris I saw hyng on the flouris + Quhilk he for lufe all drank up with his hete. + + For mirth of May, wyth skippis and wyth hoppis, + The birdis sang upon the tender croppis, + With curiouse notis, as Venus chapell clerkis; + The rosis yong, new spreding of their knoppis, + War powderit brycht with hevinly beriall droppis, + Throu bemes rede, birnyng as ruby sperkis; + The skyes rang for schoutyng of the larkis. + + + +NO TREASURE AVAILS WITHOUT GLADNESS + + + Be merry, man, and tak not sair in mind + The wavering of this wretchit warld of sorrow; + To God be humble, and to thy friend be kind, + And with thy neighbour gladly lend and borrow: + His chance to-nicht, it may be thine to-morrow; + Be blyth in heart for ony aventúre; + For oft with wise men't has been said aforrow + Without Gladnéss availis no Treasúre. + + Mak thee gude cheer of it that God thee sendis, + For warldis wrak but weilfare nocht availis; + Nae gude is thine, save only that thou spendis, + Remenant all thou brukis but with bailis: + Seek to soláce when sadness thee assailis; + In dolour lang thy life may not indure, + Wherefore of comfort set up all thy sailis; + Without Gladnéss availis no Treasúre. + + Follow on pitý, flee trouble and debate, + With famous folkis hald thy company; + Be charitáble and humble in thine estate, + For warldly honour lastis but a cry: + For trouble in erd tak no mélancholý; + Be rich in patience, give thou in guids be puir; + Who livis merry he livis michtily; + Without Gladnéss availis no Treasúre. + + Thou sees thir wretches set with sorrow and care + To gather guids in all their livis space; + And when their bags are full, their selves are bare, + And of their riches but the keeping has: + While others come to spend it that has grace, + Whilk of thy winning no labour had nor cure. + Tak thou example, and spend with merriness; + Without Gladnéss availis no Treasúre. + + Though all the work that e'er had living wicht + Were only thine, no more thy part does fall + But meat, drink, clais, and of the lave a sicht, + Yet to the Judge thou sall give compt of all; + Ane reckoning richt comes of ane ragment small: + But just and joyous, do to none injúre, + Ane Truth sail mak thee strang as ony wall; + Without Gladnéss availis no Treasúre. + + + + +JEAN VICTOR DURUY + +(1811-1894) + +[Illustration: JEAN VICTOR DURUY] + + +Duruy, whose monumental works upon Grecian and Roman history have been +worthily reproduced in England under the editorship of Professor +Mahaffy, and in America in sumptuous illustrated editions, was a +figure of the first importance both in the educational and in the +distinctly literary history of France, throughout nearly half the +present century. He became one of the "Immortals" in 1884, succeeding +to the chair of Mignet; but his 'History of Ancient Greece,' which was +published in 1862, had been already crowned by the Academy. His more +extensive 'History of the Grecian People,' published in 1885-1887, won +from the Academy the Jean Renaud prize of 10,000 francs. + +He was born September 11th, 1811, of a family employed in the Gobelins +tapestry works in Paris. His predilection for study secured him an +opportunity to enter the College of Sainte-Barbe, whence he passed to +the Normal School. + +When he was twenty-two he began teaching history, first at Rheims, and +then in the College of Henry IV. in Paris. Here he began his literary +work, mostly upon school-books, of which he wrote many, mainly +historical and geographical. He received the degree of Doctor of +Letters in 1853, and became successively Inspector of the Academy of +Paris, Master of Conferences at the Normal School, Professor of +History at the Polytechnic School, and Inspector-General of Secondary +Instruction. During the whole of this period he had been engaged with +secondary classes, and had become strongly impressed by the faulty +condition of the primary and secondary schools. In 1863 Louis Napoleon +put him at the head of the educational system of the empire as +Minister of Public Instruction. This appointment gave him the +opportunity to carry out numerous and important secularizing reforms +which brought him into sharp collision with the clerical party. He +held his post as minister for six years--six years of struggle with +the parsimonious disposition of the administration upon the one hand, +and with the hostile clericals upon the other. + +The measures in which he was especially interested were the +reorganization of the Museum of Natural History, the extension of +scientific study, the introduction of the study of modern and +contemporary history in the lyceums (a dreadful experiment, according +to his opponents), gratuitous and compulsory primary education, the +improvement of the night schools, and popular classes for adults. He +was to a large extent successful in all these, except in the direction +of compulsory education. The efforts which he made to improve the +instruction given to young girls brought upon him the tempest. The +bishops, with Monsignor Dupanloup of Orléans at their head, raised a +veritable crusade, and Pope Pio Nono himself at length entered the +hostile ranks. Probably in part because of this conflict, he was +superseded in 1869 and was made a member of the Senate, from which he +retired to private life, and the prosecution of his literary labors on +the fall of the empire, in the following year. He died in 1894. + +As an author his style is clear and direct. Among his numerous works +the most important are the two great histories, for which, as for +other achievements, honors were heaped upon him. In these he laid +particular stress upon the _milieu_--the conditions of place, time, +and race. Consequently he has therein written the history of the Greek +and Roman peoples, and not merely the history of Greece and Rome,--and +has pictured them, so far as possible, as they looked and felt and +thought and acted. He exhibits, for example, the growth of the +magnificent power of Rome, and its decadence; and shows the +all-conquering empire subdued to the manners, the gods, and the +institutions of the conquered. And worse:--"They had become enamored +of the arts, the letters, and the philosophy of Greece, and dying +Greece had avenged itself by transmitting to them the corruption which +had dishonored its old age." + +The drift of his argument appears in this paragraph, in which he sums +up his story of the Eternal City:--"In the earlier portion of its +history may be seen the happy effects of a progressively liberal +policy; in the later the baneful consequences of absolute power, +governing a servile society through a venal administration." + + + +THE NATIONAL POLICY + +From the 'History of Rome' + + +The Roman power, till then confined to the West, was now to penetrate +into another universe,--that of the successors of Alexander. The +eternal glory of Rome, the immense benefaction by which she effaces +the memory of so many unjust wars, is to have reunited those two +worlds that in all former ages were divided in interest, and strangers +to each other; is to have mingled and fused the brilliant but corrupt +civilization of the East with the barbaric energy of the West. The +Mediterranean became a Roman lake,--_mare nostrum_, they said,--and +the same life circulated on all its shores, called for the first and +the last time to a common existence. + +In this work were employed a century and a half of struggles and +diplomacy; for Rome, working for a patient aristocracy and not for a +man, was not compelled to attain her end at a bound. Instead of +rearing suddenly one of those colossal monarchies formed like the +statue of gold with feet of clay, she founded slowly an empire which +fell only under the weight of years and of the Northern hordes. After +Zama she could have attempted the conquest of Africa, but she left +Carthage and the Numidians to enfeeble each other. After Cynoscephalæ +and Magnesia, Greece and Asia were all ready for the yoke, but she +accorded them fifty years more of liberty. This was because, along +with the pride of the Roman name and the necessity for dominion, she +always retained some of her ancient virtues. The Popiliuses were more +numerous than the Verreses. Now she preferred to rule the world; later +she will put it to pillage. Thus, wherever Rome saw strength she sent +her legions; all power was broken; the ties of States and leagues were +shattered; and when her soldiers were recalled they left behind them +only weakness and anarchy. But the task of the legions accomplished, +that of the Senate began. After force came craft and diplomacy. Those +senators, grown old amidst the terrors of the second Punic war, seemed +now to have less pleasure in arms than in the game of politics,--the +first, in all ages, of Italian arts. + +Several other causes dictated this policy of reserve. Against the +Gauls, the Samnites, Pyrrhus, and Hannibal,--in other words, for the +defense of Latium and of Italy,--Rome had employed all her strength; +it was then a question of her existence: whereas, in the wars with +Greece and with Asia, her ambition and her pride alone were +interested; and wisdom demanded that some relaxation be given to the +plebeians and the allies. The Senate had moreover too many affairs on +its hands--the wars with Spain, with Corsica, with Cisalpina, and with +Istria--to admit of its becoming deeply involved in the East. +Therefore two legions only will fight Philip and Antiochus--that will +suffice to conquer, but would be too little to despoil them. +Furthermore, the Senate believed that in penetrating into this Greek +world, where an old glory concealed so much weakness, they could not +accord too much to prudence. These pitiless enemies of the Volscians +and the Samnites will not proceed in their next wars by exterminating +their adversaries and wasting their country. "It was not with such a +purpose," said they, "that they came to pour out their blood; they +took in hand the cause of oppressed Greece." And that language and +that policy they will not change after victory. The first act of +Flamininus, on the day after Cynoscephalæ, was to proclaim the liberty +of the Greeks. All who bore that respected name seemed to have the +right to Roman protection; and the little Greek cities of Caria, and +of the coasts of Asia and Thrace, received with astonishment their +liberty from a people that they hardly knew. All were captivated +by this apparent generosity. None perceived that in restoring +independence to the cities and States, Rome wished to break up the +confederations that sought to reorganize and would perhaps have given +new force to Greece. In isolating them and attaching them to herself +by grateful ties, she placed them almost insensibly under her +influence. She made allies of them; and every one knows what the +allies of Rome became. Thus the Senate was so well satisfied with this +policy, which created division everywhere and awakened extinct +rivalries, that for half a century it followed no other. + + + +RESULTS OF THE ROMAN DOMINION + +From the 'History of Rome' + + +Although in literature Rome was but the echo of Greece, she civilized +all the Western world, for which the Greeks had done nothing. Her +language, out of which sprang the various languages of the Romance +nations, is in case of need a means of communication among scholars +of all countries, and her books will always remain--a wise selection +being made--the best for the higher culture of the mind. They have +merited above all others the title of _litteræ humaniores_, the +literature by which men are made. A cardinal, reading the 'Thoughts +of Marcus Aurelius' (written in Greek, it is true, but written by a +Roman), exclaimed, "My soul blushes redder than my scarlet at sight of +the virtues of this Gentile." + +Suppose Rome destroyed by Pyrrhus or Hannibal, before Marius and Cæsar +had driven the German tribes back from Gaul: their invasion would have +been effected five centuries sooner; and since they would have found +opposed to them only other barbarians, what a long night would have +settled down upon the world! + +It is true that when the Roman people had laid hands upon the +treasures of Alexander's successors, the scandal of their orgies +exceeded for a century anything that the East had ever seen; that +their amusements were sanguinary games or licentious plays; that the +Roman mind, after receiving a temporary benefit from Greek philosophy, +went astray in Oriental mysticism; and that finally, after having +loved liberty, Rome accepted despotism, as if willing to astonish the +world as much by her great corruption as she did by the greatness of +her empire. + +But can we say that no other age or nation has known servility of +soul, licentiousness in public amusements, and the conspicuous +depravity in morals that is always to be seen where indolence and +wealth are united? + +To the legacies left by Rome which have now been enumerated, we must +add another, which ranks among the most precious. Notwithstanding the +poetic piety of Virgil, and Livy's official credulity, the dominant +note of Latin literature is the indifference of Horace, when it is not +the daring skepticism of Lucretius. To Cicero, Seneca, Tacitus, and +the great jurisconsults, the prime necessity was the free possession +of themselves, that independence of philosophic thought which they +owed to Greece. This spirit, begotten of pure reason, was almost +stifled during the Middle Ages. It reappeared when antiquity was +recovered. From that day the renascent world set forward again; and +in the new path France, heir of Athens and of Rome, was long her +guide--for art in its most charming form, and for thought, developed +in the light. + +Upon a medal of Constantine his son presents to him a globe surmounted +by a phoenix, symbol of immortality. For once the courtiers were not +in the wrong. The sacred bird which springs from her own ashes is a +fitting emblem of this old Rome, dead fifteen centuries ago, yet alive +to-day through her genius: _Siamo Romani_. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Library of the World's Best +literature, Ancient and Modern, Vol. 12, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE *** + +***** This file should be named 32308-8.txt or 32308-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/0/32308/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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