No More Learning

At once their shields they lifted, and forward fiercely sped
In the hall of Kriemhild to force the stranger crowd.
Thereat down from the stair-head Sir Hagan shouted loud:-
:-
"Tarry yet a little, right noble Rudeger!
I and my lords a moment would yet with you confer;
Thereto hard need compels us, and danger gathering nigh:
What boot were it for Etzel though here forlorn we die?
"I'm now," pursued Sir Hagan, "beset with grievous care:
The shield that lady Gotelind gave me late to bear
Is hewn and all-to broken by many a Hunnish brand.
I brought it fair and friendly hither to Etzel's land.
"Ah! that to me this favor Heaven would be pleased to yield,
That I might to defend me bear so well-proved a shield,
As that, right noble Rudeger, before thee now displayed!
No more should I in battle need then the hauberk's aid. ".
"Fain with the same I'd serve thee to th' height of thy desire,
But that I fear such proffer might waken Kriemhild's ire.
Still, take it to thee, Hagan, and wield it well in hand.
Ah! might'st thou bring it with thee to thy Burgundian land! "
While thus with words so courteous so fair a gift he sped,
The eyes of many a champion with scalding tears were red.
'Twas the last gift, that buckler, e'er given to comrade dear
By the lord of Bechelaren, the blameless Rudeger:
However stern was Hagan, and of unyielding mood,
Still at the gift he melted, which one so great and good
Gave in his last few moments, e'en on the eve of fight;
And with the stubborn warrior mourned many a noble knight.
"Now God in heaven, good Rudeger, thy recompenser be!
Your like on earth, I'm certain, we never more shall see,
Who gifts so good and gorgeous to homeless wanderers give.
May God protect your virtue, that it may ever live!
"Alas! this bloody business! " Sir Hagan then went on,
"We have had to bear much sorrow, and more shall have anon.
Must friend with friend do battle, nor Heaven the conflict part? »
The noble margrave answered, "That wounds my inmost heart. "


## p. 10655 (#531) ##########################################

THE NIBELUNGENLIED
10655
"Now for thy gift I'll quit thee, right noble Rudeger!
Whate'er may chance between thee and my bold comrades here,
My hand shall touch thee never amidst the heady fight,
Not e'en if thou shouldst slaughter every Burgundian knight. "
For that to him bowed courteous the blameless Rudeger.
Then all around were weeping for grief and doleful drear,
Since none th' approaching mischief had hope to turn aside.
The father of all virtue in that good margrave died.
HOW KRIEMHILD SLEW HAGAN AND WAS HERSELF SLAIN
TO THE cell of Hagan eagerly she went;
Thus the knight bespake she, ah! with what fell intent!
"Wilt thou but return me what thou from me hast ta'en,
Back thou mayst go living to Burgundy again. ”
Then spake grim-visaged Hagan, "You throw away your prayer,
High-descended lady: I took an oath whilere,
That while my lords were living, or of them only one,
I'd ne'er point out the treasure: thus 'twill be given to none. "
Well knew the subtle Hagan she ne'er would let him 'scape.
Ah! when did ever falsehood assume so foul a shape?
He feared that soon as ever the queen his life had ta'en,
She then would send her brother to Rhineland back again.
"I'll make an end, and quickly," Kriemhild fiercely spake.
Her brother's life straight bade she in his dungeon take.
Off his head was smitten; she bore it by the hair
To the lord of Trony: such sight he well could spare.
Awhile in gloomy sorrow he viewed his master's head;
Then to remorseless Kriemhild thus the warrior said:
"E'en to thy wish this business thou to an end hast brought,-
To such an end, moreover, as Hagan ever thought.
"Now the brave king Gunther of Burgundy is dead;
Young Giselher and eke Gernot alike with him are sped:
So now, where lies the treasure, none knows save God and me,
And told shall it be never, be sure, she-fiend! to thee. "
Said she, "Ill hast thou quitted a debt so deadly scored:
At least in my possession I'll keep my Siegfried's sword;
My lord and lover bore it, when last I saw him go.
For him woe wrung my bosom, that passed all other woe. "


## p. 10656 (#532) ##########################################

10656
THE NIBELUNGENLIED
Forth from the sheath she drew it, that could not he prevent;
At once to slay the champion was Kriemhild's stern intent.
High with both hands she heaved it, and off his head did smite.
That was seen of King Etzel; he shuddered at the sight.
――
"Ah! " cried the prince impassioned, "harrow and welaway!
That the hand of a woman the noblest knight should slay
That e'er struck stroke in battle, or ever buckler bore!
Albeit I was his foeman, needs must I sorrow sore. "
Then said the aged Hildebrand, "Let not her boast of gain,
In that by her contrivance this noble chief was slain;
Though to sore strait he brought me, let ruin on me light,
But I will take full vengeance for Trony's murdered knight. "
Hildebrand the aged fierce on Kriemhild sprung;
To the death he smote her as his sword he swung.
Sudden and remorseless he his wrath did wreak:
What could then avail her her fearful thrilling shriek?
There now the dreary corpses stretched all around were seen;
There lay, hewn in pieces, the fair and noble queen.
Sir Dietrich and King Etzel, their tears began to start;
For kinsmen and for vassals each sorrowed in his heart.
The mighty and the noble there lay together dead;
For this had all the people dole and drearihead.
The feast of royal Etzel was thus shut up in woe.
Pain in the steps of Pleasure treads ever here below.
'Tis more than I can tell you what afterwards befell,
Save that there was weeping for friends beloved so well;
Knights and squires, dames and damsels, were seen lamenting
all.
So here I end my story. This is THE NIBELUNGERS' FALL.


## p. 10656 (#533) ##########################################



## p. 10656 (#534) ##########################################


NIEBUHR.


## p. 10656 (#535) ##########################################

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## p. 10656 (#536) ##########################################


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## p. 10657 (#537) ##########################################

10657
BARTHOLD GEORG NIEBUHR
(1776-1831)
HE history of belles-lettres could very well be written with-
out the inclusion of Niebuhr's name. He has not left any
important masterpiece of artistic form, nor appreciably en-
riched the imagination of mankind. Indeed, we might rather consider
ourselves to have been impoverished, on that happier side of life, by
the investigator who forbade us to regard Eneas, Romulus, and
Numa, or even the Tarquins and the Horatii, as in any sense real-
ities. Yet certainly the development of a wiser historical method,
the study of human institutions, the higher education generally, will
always owe him a mighty debt. He was, in the truest sense of a
word commoner in its Teutonic than in its Anglo-Saxon form, "epoche-
machend"—epoch-making. Until his time, students had merely read
Livy and Dionysius, accepting all save the super-human elements of
early Roman story, or merely doubting and caviling over this and
that detail. Niebuhr was the first who relegated the whole mass of
traditional tales in Livy's first five books to the realm of the imagi-
nation, and showed how the historic institutions of later Rome must
be studied for the light they, and they alone, could throw upon their
own origin in the age previous to authentic record. Even for the
ablest application of this critical method we no longer turn to Nie-
buhr's fragmentary publications, but rather to the more picturesque
and vivid pages of his successor, Mommsen. Yet it may well be
questioned whether he who uses the tool deserves higher credit than
he who forges it; the man in whom the school culminates rather
than its founder. Certainly no one could recognize more loyally than
Mommsen himself the man whose lectures on Roman history were
the most brilliant work done in the newly founded University of
Berlin in 1810 and the next following years.
The story of Niebuhr's life is delightfully told, chiefly by himself,
in his Life and Letters,' edited by the Chevalier Bunsen. It is full
of singular contradictions. Though the son of a famous traveler, he
complains that he was brought up in seclusion, fed on words instead
of knowing things. But indeed a certain querulousness is a constant
weakness of this noble nature. He was certainly a prodigy of learn-
ing. When he was barely of age his father reckons up twenty lan-
guages which the youth had mastered. His memory seems to have
XVIII-667


## p. 10658 (#538) ##########################################

10658
BARTHOLD GEORG NIEBUHR
been both accurate and unlimited in its scope. Along with it went
a power of combination and brilliant deduction still more unusual.
Though Niebuhr was a Dane, his education was apparently more
than half German. His last student-year, 1798–9, was passed at Edin-
burgh. To his English and Scotch experience he felt that he owed
his insight into business affairs. Perhaps in that epoch of upheaval
an ambitious young scholar could hardly keep out of political life.
Certainly Niebuhr made his first career as a man of affairs. More
difficult still to understand is his acceptance of a call from Denmark
to Prussia. He arrived just in time to share the disasters of the
Napoleonic invasion in 1806. He was perhaps Stein's most trusted
assistant in preparing for the revival of Prussia.
Niebuhr was unable to settle down as a university scholar. His
hold on political affairs was indeed never wholly relaxed, and six
years after the university was opened he bade farewell to Berlin,
being sent as Prussian ambassador to the Pope. Returning to Ger-
many in 1823, Niebuhr passed the last years of his life quietly as a
professor, student, and author, at Bonn.
His death was felt to be premature. His varied and crowded life
up to his fiftieth year had seemed like a long education, and a gath-
ering of materials for the great constructive work which he might
have accomplished. No modern scholar, perhaps, has had so firm a
grasp on the records and isolated facts of ancient life. None, surely,
ever had firmer confidence in his own ability to redraw the great
picture of that life in truthful outlines. Yet his name lives chiefly
as the creator of a method, and his disciples' books are more indis-
pensable to us than his own. Perhaps this is after all a cheerful
epitaph on a great teacher; and all later students of history, of insti-
tutions, of antiquity, are in varying degree his pupils. Lanciani, who
would revive our faith even in Romulus, owes to Niebuhr little less
than Mommsen, who hardly mentions Livy or Livy's heroes in his
chapters on early Rome.
Besides the excellent
Life and Letters' by Bunsen (Harpers,
1852), Niebuhr's works on ancient history are accessible in English,
partly in authentic form, partly in very fragmentary shape pieced out
from note-books. The most adequate impression will be gained from
his History of Rome,' Vols. i. , ii. , iii. , as translated by Hare and
Thirlwall, London, 1851.


## p. 10659 (#539) ##########################################

BARTHOLD GEORG NIEBUHR
10659
PLAN FOR A COMPLETE HISTORY OF ROME
From the Introduction to the History of Rome. Translation of Hare and
Thirlwall
I
HAVE undertaken to relate the history of Rome. I shall begin
in the night of remote antiquity, where the most laborious
researches can scarcely discern a few of the chief members of
ancient Italy, by the dim light of late and dubious traditions;
and I wish to come down to those times when, all that we have
seen spring up and grow old in the long course of centuries
being buried in ruins or in the grave, a second night envelops
it in almost equal obscurity.
This history in its chief outlines is universally known; and by
very many, at least in part, immediately from the classical works
of Roman authors, so far as their remains supply us with a
representation of several of the most brilliant and memorable
periods of republican and imperial Rome. If the whole of these
works were extant,-if we possessed a continuous narrative in the
histories of Livy and Tacitus, extending, with the exception of
the last years of Augustus, from the origin of the city down to
Nerva,—it would be presumptuous and idle to engage in relating
the same events with those historians: presumptuous, because
the beauty of their style must ever lie beyond our reach; and
idle, because, over and above the historical instruction conveyed,
it would be impossible to have a companion through life better
fitted to fashion the mind in youth, and to preserve it in after
age from the manifold barbarizing influences of our circumstances
and relations, than such a copious history of eight hundred and
fifty years written by the Romans for themselves. We should
only want to correct the misrepresentations during the earlier
ages, and to sever the poetical ingredients from what is his-
torically sure and well grounded; and without presumptuously
appearing to vie with the old masters, we might draw a sim-
ple sketch of the constitution, and of the changes it underwent
at particular times, where Livy leaves us without information, or
misleads us. But as those works are only preserved in frag-
ments; as they are silent concerning periods perhaps still more
prominent in the importance of their events than those which
we see living in their pages; as the histories of those periods
by moderns are unsatisfactory, and often full of error,- I have
deemed it expedient to promote the knowledge of Roman history


## p. 10660 (#540) ##########################################

10660
BARTHOLD GEORG NIEBUHR
by devoting a course of lectures to it. A doubt might be enter-
tained whether it were better to give a connected narrative, or
merely to treat of the portions where we are left without the
two historians. I have determined in favor of the former
plan, trusting that I shall not lead any of my hearers to fancy he
may dispense with studying the classical historians of Rome when
he has gained a notion of the events which they portray, and
hoping that I may render the study easier and more instructive.
Much of what the Roman historians have set down in the
annals of their nation must be left out by a modern from that
mass of events wherein their history far surpasses that of every
other people. Under this necessity of passing over many things,
and of laying down a rule for my curtailments, I shall make no
mention of such persons and events as have left their names a
dead letter behind them, without any intrinsic greatness or im-
portant external results; although a complete knowledge of every
particular is indispensable to a scholar, and though many a dry
waste locks up sources which sooner or later he may succeed in
drawing forth. On the other hand, I shall endeavor to examine
the history, especially during the first five centuries, not under
the guidance of dim feelings, but of searching criticism. Nor
shall I merely deliver the results, which could only give birth to
blind opinions, but the researches themselves at full length.
I
shall strive to lay open the groundworks of the ancient Roman
nation and State, which have been built over and masked, and
about which the old writers preserved to us are often utterly mis-
taken; to execute justice in awarding praise and blame, love and
hatred, where party spirit has given birth to misrepresentations,
and thereby to false judgments, after upward of two thousand
years; to represent the spreading of the empire, the growth of
the constitution, the state of the administration, of manners, and
of civility, according as from time to time we are able to survey
them.
I shall exhibit the characters of the men who were
mighty in their generation for good or for evil, or who at least
rose above their fellows. I shall relate the history of the wars
with accuracy, wherever they do not offer a mere recurring uni-
formity; and so far as our information will allow, shall draw a
faithful and distinct portrait of the nations that gradually came
within the widening sphere of the Roman power. Moreover, I
shall consider the state of literature at its principal epochs, tak-
ing notice of the lost as well as the extant writers.


## p. 10661 (#541) ##########################################

BARTHOLD GEORG NIEBUHR
10661
EARLY EDUCATION: WORDS AND THINGS
From a Letter to Jacobi, November 21st, 1811, in the Life and Letters by
Chevalier Bunsen
-
I
Had
WAS born with an inward discord, the existence of which I can
trace back to my earliest childhood; though it was afterward
much aggravated by an education ill adapted to my nature,
or rather by a mixture of such an education with no education
at all. I did not conceal this from you in former days.
I to choose my own endowments for another life on earth, I
would not wish to possess greater facility in taking up impressions
from the external world, in retaining and combining them into
new forms within an inward world of imagination, full of the
most various and animated movement, nor a memory more accu-
rate or more at command (a faculty inseparable from the former),
than nature has granted me. Much advantage might have been
derived from these gifts in childhood; perhaps in some pursuits
they might have insured me every success; nay, this result
would have arisen spontaneously, had I not been subjected to a
kind of education which could only have been useful to a mind
of precisely the opposite description.
Our great seclusion from the world, in a quiet little provincial
town, the prohibition from our earliest years to pass beyond the
house and garden, accustomed me to gather the materials for the
insatiable requirements of my childish fancy, not from life and
nature, but from books, engravings, and conversation. Thus, my
imagination laid no hold on the realities around me, but absorbed
into her dominions all that I read,- and I read without limit and
without aim,-while the actual world was impenetrable to my
gaze; so that I became almost incapable of apprehending any-
thing which had not already been apprehended by another-
of forming a mental picture of anything which had not before
been shaped into a distinct conception by another. It is true
that in this second-hand world I was very learned, and could
even, at a very early age, pronounce opinions like a grown-up
person; but the truth in me and around me was veiled from
my eyes the genuine truth of objective reason. Even when I
grew older, and studied antiquity with intense interest, the chief
use I made of my knowledge for a long time was to give fresh
variety and brilliancy to my world of dreams. From the deli-
cacy of my health, and my mother's anxiety about it, I was so


## p. 10662 (#542) ##########################################

10662
BARTHOLD GEORG NIEBUHR
much confined to the house that I was like a caged bird, and
lost all natural spirit and liveliness, and the true life of child-
hood, the observations and ideas of which must form the basis of
those peculiar to a more developed age, just as the early use of
the body is the basis of its after training. No one ever thought
of asking what I was doing, and how I did it; and it was not
until my thirteenth year that I received any regular instruction.
My friends were satisfied with seeing that I was diligently em-
ployed, and that though I had at first no teaching, I was equal
to boys of my age in things for which they had had regular
masters, and soon surpassed them when I had the same advan-
tages; while moreover I was as well acquainted with a thousand
matters to be learned from books as a grown-up man. Yet after
a time I began to grow uneasy. I became aware that notwith-
standing my empire in the air, my life in the actual world was
poor and powerless; that the perception of realities alone pos-
sesses truth and worth; that on it are founded all imaginative
productions which have any value at all; and that there is noth-
ing truly worthy of respect but that depth of mind which makes
a man master of truth in its first principle. As soon as I had
to enter on the sciences, properly so called, I found myself in a
difficulty; and unfortunately I took once more the easiest path,
and left on one side whatever cost me some trouble to acquire.
I was often on the verge of a mental revolution, but it never
actually took place; now and then, indeed, I planted my foot on
the firm ground, and when that happened I made some progress.
When I first became acquainted with you, I was happy, and I
was perhaps on the way to do what is more difficult than to
gain knowledge without help from others,- to restore what was
distorted in me to its right place. But at a later period, when I
left my quiet and healthful position for a superficial world, which
held me with a strong grasp and confused and deadened my
mind, where I was dragged along a path which I had no wish
to tread, and which led me further and further from that for
which I hopelessly longed; where I was forced to endure applause
and praise, at a time when my want of knowledge on essential
points, and the superfluous matter with which I had loaded my
memory on others, my unsettled, disconnected ideas without true
basis, my undisciplined powers without adequately firm habits of
work, particularly of self-improvement, rendered me a horror to
myself, I was as unhappy as you saw me to be.
C


## p. 10663 (#543) ##########################################

BARTHOLD GEORG NIEBUHR
10663
However, my eyes were opened to much that had hitherto
escaped me, and I was to some degree forced into the actual
external world, by my travels beyond the sea and my residence
among a nation distinguished by sober thought and resolute
activity; where I was obliged to occupy myself with the objects
of practical life, and saw this life ennobled by the perfection
to which it was carried, and the invariable adaptation of the
means to the end. I then starved out the imaginative side of
my nature, and placed myself, as it were, under a course of
mental diet, according to which I lived for a long time in abso-
lute dependence on the actual world around me. But this did not
bring me into the right path of my true inward activity and
development. I felt that I was now, on the other hand, poorer
than ever as regarded what had always possessed the strongest
attraction for me, though I seemed to be excluded from it by
an insurmountable barrier. For years I was immersed, as far
as my occupations were concerned, in the most prosaic workaday
life, with the pain and torment of feeling that I grew more
used to it every day; of feeling that I was shut out of Paradise,
but that the bread I gained by tilling the earth in the sweat of
my brow was not at all distasteful to me,—nay, that perhaps if
Paradise were reopened to me, I should feel some longing for the
spade.
THE IMPORTANCE OF THE IMAGINATION
From an Undated Letter in the Life and Letters' by Chevalier Bunsen
ENVY you the recollections of your Italian journey.
It is a
I
hard thought to me, that I shall never see the land that was
the theatre of deeds with which I may perhaps claim a closer
acquaintance than any of my contemporaries. I have studied the
Roman history with all the effort of which my mind has been
capable in its happiest moments, and believe that I may assume
that acquaintance without vanity. This history will also, if I
write, form the subject of most of my works.
The sight of the works of art, particularly the paintings,
would have delighted me as it did you. Statues have little effect
upon me; my sight is too weak, and cannot be strengthened by
glasses for a surface of one color, as it can for pictures. Then
too a picture, when I have once seen it, becomes my property;
·


## p. 10664 (#544) ##########################################

10664
BARTHOLD GEORG NIEBUHR
I never lose it out of my imagination. Music is in general posi-
tively disagreeable to me, because I cannot unite it in one point,
and everything fragmentary oppresses my mind. Hence also I
am no mathematician, but a historian; for from the single feat-
ures preserved I can form a complete picture, and know where
groups are wanting, and how to supply them. I think this is the
case with you also; and I wish you would, like me, apply your
reflections on past events to fix the images on the canvas, and
then employ your imagination, working only with true historical
tints, to give them coloring. Take ancient history as your sub-
ject: it is an inexhaustible one, and no one would believe how
much that appears to be lost, might be restored with the clearest
evidence. Modern history ne vaut pas le diable [is utterly worth-
less]. Above all, read Livy again and again. I prefer him infi-
nitely to Tacitus, and am glad to find that Voss is of the same
opinion. There is no other author who exercises such a gentle
despotism over the eyes and ears of his readers, as Livy among
the Romans and Thucydides among the Greeks. Quinctilian calls
Livy's fullness "sweet as milk," and his eloquence "indescrib-
able"; in my judgment, too, it equals and often even surpasses
that of Cicero. The latter
intellect, wit;
but he attempted a richness of style for
which he lacked that heavenly repose of the intellect, which Livy
like Homer must have possessed, and among the moderns, Féne-
lon and Garve in no common degree. Very different was Demos-
thenes, who was always concise like Thucydides. And to rise to
conciseness and vigor of style is the highest that we moderns
can well attain; for we cannot write from our whole soul: and
hence we cannot expect another perfect epic poem. The quicker
beats the life-pulse of the world, the more each one is compelled
to move in epicycles, the less can calm, mighty repose of the
spirit be ours. I am writing to you as if I were actually living
in this better world; and nothing is further from the truth.
possessed infinite acuteness,
·
.
·
·
·
NOTE. For fuller treatment of these topics we refer the reader to
Niebuhr's letters, and especially to the epistle to a young philologist,
'Life and Letters,' pages 423-430.


## p. 10665 (#545) ##########################################

10665
NIZĀMĪ
(1141-1203)
BY A. V.
WILLIAMS JACKSON
IZĀMĪ's name as a Persian poet is one that is not so well known
in the Occident as the name of Firdausī, Hafiz, or Sa'di;
but Nizāmī is one of the foremost classic writers of Persian
literature, and there is authority for regarding his genius as second.
only to Firdausī in the romantic epic style. He was a native of west-
ern Persia, and was born in the year 1141. He is generally spoken
of as Nizāmī of Ganjah, and that seems to have been his home dur-
ing most of his life, and he died there in his sixty-third year (A. D.
1203). Nizāmi was brought up in an atmosphere of religious asceti-
cism, but his life was brightened by the illumination which came with
the divine poetic gift; his talents won him court favor, but his choice
was retirement and quiet meditation, and there was a certain halo of
sanctity about his person.
It is interesting to the literary student to think of this epic
romanticist as writing in Persia at a time when the strain of the
romantic epopee was just beginning to be heard among the minstrels
of Provence and Normandy, and the music of its notes was awakening
English ears. And yet Nizāmī's first poetic production, the 'Makhzan-
al-asrar,' or 'Storehouse of Mysteries,' was rather a work of religious
didacticism than of romance, and its title shows the Sufi tinge of
mystic speculation. Nizami's heart and true poetic bent, however,
became evident shortly afterwards in the charming story in verse of
the romantic love of Khusrau and Shirin,' which is one of the most
imaginative tales in literature, and it established Nizāmī's claim to
renown at the age of forty. The subject is the old Sassanian tradi-
tion of King Khusrau's love for the fair Armenian princess Shirin,
who is alike beloved by the gifted young sculptor Farhad; the latter
accomplishes an almost superhuman feat of chiseling through mount-
ains at the royal bidding, in hopes of winning the fair one's hand,
but meets his death in fulfilling the task imposed by his kingly rival.
In Nizami's second romantic poem, 'Laila and Majnun,' we grieve
at the sorrows of two lovers whose devotion stands in the Orient
for the love of Eloisa and Abelard, Petrarch and Laura, Isabella and
Lorenzo; while likenesses to Ariosto's Orlando Furioso' have been


## p. 10666 (#546) ##########################################

10666
NIZĀMI
suggested. The tragic fate of Laila and Majnun, the children of two
rival Bedouin tribes, is a love tale of pre-Islamic times; for Nizāmī's
subjects were never chosen from truly orthodox Mohammedan themes.
His 'Seven Portraits' (Haft Paikar) is a series of romantic love
stories of the seven favorite wives of King Bahrām Gōr, and leads
back again to Sassanian days. The 'Iskandar Nāmah,' or 'Alexander
Book,' is a combination of romantic fiction and of philosophy in epic
style, which makes the work one of special interest in connection
with the romances which form a cycle, in various literatures, about
the name of Alexander the Great. The five works above mentioned
are gathered into a collection known as the 'Five Treasures' (Panj
Ganj), and in addition to these Nizāmī also produced a 'Dīvān,' or
collection of short poems; so that his literary fertility is seen to be
considerable.
The selections which are here presented are drawn from Atkin-
son's 'Lailā and Majnun,' London, 1836, and from S. Robinson's
'Persian Poetry for English Readers' (privately printed, Glasgow,
1883). Those who are interested will find further bibliographical ref-
erences in Ethé's contribution in Geiger's 'Grundriss der Iranischen
Philologie, Vol. ii. , page 243.
1 Jackans
A. r. Willams
FROM NIZĀMI'S LAILĀ AND MAJNŪN'
[Laila and Majnun are children of rival tribes. ]
SHA
HAIKHS of each tribe have children there, and each
Studies whate'er the bearded sage can teach.
Thence his attainments Kais [Majnūn] assiduous drew,
And scattered pearls from lips of ruby hue:
And there, of different tribe and gentle mien,
A lovely maid of tender years was seen;
Her mental powers an early bloom displayed;
Her peaceful form in simple garb arrayed;
Bright as the morn her cypress shape, and eyes
Dark as the stag's, were viewed with fond surprise:
And when her cheek this Arab moon revealed,
A thousand hearts were won; no pride, no shield,
Could check her beauty's power, resistless grown,
Given to enthrall and charm- but chiefly one.


## p. 10667 (#547) ##########################################

NIZĀMĪ
10667
Her richly flowing locks were black as night,
And Laila she was called-that heart's delight:
One single glance the nerves to frenzy wrought,
One single glance bewildered every thought;
And when o'er Kais [Majnun] affection's blushing rose
Diffused its sweetness, from him fled repose:
Tumultuous passion danced upon his brow;
He sought to woo her, but he knew not how.
He gazed upon her cheek, and as he gazed,
Love's flaming taper more intensely blazed.
Soon mutual pleasure warmed each other's heart;
Love conquered both-they never dreamt to part:
And while the rest were poring o'er their books,
They pensive mused, and read each other's looks;
While other schoolmates for distinction strove,
And thought of fame, they only thought of love;
While others various climes in books explored,
Both idly sat-adorer and adored.
Science for them had now no charms to boast;
Learning for them had all its virtues lost;
Their only taste was love, and love's sweet ties,
And writing ghazels to each other's eyes.
Yes, love triumphant came, engrossing all
The fond luxuriant thoughts of youth and maid;
And whilst subdued in that delicious thrall,
Smiles and bright tears upon their features played.
Then in soft converse did they pass the hours,
Their passion, like the season, fresh and fair;
Their opening path seemed decked with balmiest flowers,
Their melting words as soft as summer air.
Immersed in love so deep,
They hoped suspicion would be lulled asleep,
And none be conscious of their amorous state;
They hoped that none with prying eye,
And gossip tongue invidiously,
Might to the busy world its truth relate.
And thus possessed, they anxious thought
Their passion would be kept unknown;
Wishing to seem what they were not,
Though all observed their hearts were one.


## p. 10668 (#548) ##########################################

10668
NIZĀMĪ
[The lovers are separated. ]
Laila had, with her kindred, been removed
Among the Nijid mountains, where
She cherished still the thoughts of him she loved,
And her affection thus more deeply proved
Amid that wild retreat. Kais [Majnun] sought her there;
Sought her in rosy bower and silent glade,
Where the tall palm-trees flung refreshing shade.
He called upon her name again;
Again he called,-alas! in vain;
His voice unheard, though raised on every side;
Echo alone to his lament replied;
And Laila! Laila! rang around,
As if enamored of that magic sound.
Dejected and forlorn, fast falling dew
Glistened upon his cheeks of pallid hue;
Through grove and frowning glen he lonely strayed,
And with his griefs the rocks were vocal made.
Beautiful Lailā! had she gone for ever?
Could he that thought support? oh, never, never!
Whilst deep emotion agonized his breast.
[Still Laila thinks only of her beloved Majnun. ]
The gloomy veil of night withdrawn,
How sweetly looks the silvery dawn;
Rich blossoms laugh on every tree,
Like men of fortunate destiny,
Or the shining face of revelry.
The crimson tulip and golden rose
Their sweets to all the world disclose.
I mark the glittering pearly wave
The fountain's banks of emerald lave;
The birds in every arbor sing,
And the very raven hails the spring;
The partridge and the ring-dove raise
Their joyous notes of songs of praise;
But bulbuls, through the mountain-vale,
Like Majnun, chant a mournful tale.
The season of the rose has led
Laila to her favorite bower;
Her cheeks the softest vermil-red,
Her eyes the modest sumbul flower.


## p. 10669 (#549) ##########################################

NIZĀMI
10669
She has left her father's painted hall,
She has left the terrace where she kept
Her secret watch till evening fall,
And where she oft till midnight wept.
A golden fillet sparkling round
Her brow, her raven tresses bound;
And as she o'er the greensward tripped,
A train of damsels ruby-lipped,
Blooming like flowers of Samarkand,
Obedient bowed to her command.
She glittered like a moon among
The beauties of the starry throng,
With lovely forms as Houris bright,
Or Peris glancing in the light;
And now they reach an emerald spot,
Beside a cool sequestered grot,
And soft recline beneath the shade,
By a delicious rose-bower made:
There, in soft converse, sport, and play,
The hours unnoted glide away;
But Laila to the bulbul tells
What secret grief her bosom swells,
And fancies, through the rustling leaves,
She from the garden-breeze receives
The breathings of her own true love,
Fond as the cooings of the dove.
"O faithful friend, and lover true,
Still distant from thy Laila's view;
Still absent, still beyond her power
To bring thee to her fragrant bower:
O noble youth, still thou art mine,
And Laila, Laila, still is thine! "
[Majnun, frenzied and distracted, vainly seeks his Lailā, whom her father
has betrothed against her will to a man she can but hate. The unhappy girl
is long imprisoned in a closely guarded tower, until unexpectedly one night
the word is brought of the death of her enforced and loathed husband. The
situation is depicted in an Oriental manner. ]
How beautifully blue
The firmament! how bright
The moon is sailing through
The vast expanse to-night!


## p. 10670 (#550) ##########################################

10670
NIZĀMĪ
And at this lovely hour,
The lonely Lailā weeps
Within her prison tower,
And her sad record keeps.
How many days, how many years,
Her sorrows she has borne!
A lingering age of sighs and tears,-
A night that has no morn;
-
Yet in that guarded tower she lays her head,
Shut like a gem within its stony bed.
And who the warder of that place of sighs?
Her husband! he the dragon-watch supplies.
What words are those which meet her anxious ear?
Unusual sounds, unusual sights appear;
Lamps flickering round, and wailings sad and low,
Seem to proclaim some sudden burst of woe.
Beneath her casements rings a wild lament;
Death-notes disturb the night; the air is rent
With clamorous voices; every hope is fled:
He breathes no longer-Ibn Salim is dead!
The fever's rage had nipped him in his bloom;
He sank unloved, unpitied, to the tomb.
And Laila marks the moon: a cloud
Had stained its lucid face;
The mournful token of a shroud,
End of the humble and the proud,
The grave their resting-place.
And now to her the tale is told,
Her husband's hand and heart are cold.
And must she mourn the death of one
Whom she had loathed to look upon?
In customary garb arrayed,
Disheveled tresses, streaming eyes,
The heart remaining in disguise,—
She seemed, distraction in her mien,
To feel her loss, if loss had been;
But all the burning tears she shed
Were for her own Majnun, and not the dead!
[In after life the two lovers meet but for a moment of enchanting rapt-
ure, and an instant for interchanging mutual vows of devotion; when the
woe-worn Majnun and the unhappy Laila are separated forever, to be united
only in death. Legend tells us how Laila's faithful page beheld a glorious
vision of the beatified lovers joined in Paradise. ]


## p. 10671 (#551) ##########################################

NIZĀMĪ
10671
The minstrel's legend chronicle
Which on their woes delights to dwell,
Their matchless purity and faith,
And how their dust was mixed in death,
Tells how the sorrow-stricken Zeyd
Saw, in a dream, the beauteous bride,
With Majnun seated side by side.
In meditation deep one night,
The other world flushed on his sight
With endless vistas of delight—
The world of spirits; as he lay,
Angels appeared in bright array,
Circles of glory round them gleaming,
Their eyes with holy rapture beaming;
He saw the ever verdant bowers,
With golden fruit and blooming flowers;
The bulbul heard, their sweets among,
Warbling his rich mellifluous song;
The ring-dove's murmuring, and the swell
Of melody from harp and shell;
He saw within a rosy glade,
Beneath a palm's extensive shade,
A throne, amazing to behold,
Studded with glittering gems and gold;
Celestial carpets near it spread
Close where a lucid streamlet strayed:
Upon that throne, in blissful state,
The long-divided lovers sate,
Resplendent with seraphic light;
They held a cup, with diamonds bright;
Their lips by turns, with nectar wet,
In pure ambrosial kisses met;
Sometimes to each their thoughts revealing,
Each clasping each with tenderest feeling.
The dreamer who this vision saw
Demanded, with becoming awe,
What sacred names the happy pair
In Irem-bowers were wont to bear.
A voice replied: "That sparkling moon
Is Laila still-her friend, Majnun;
Deprived in your frail world of bliss,
They reap their great reward in this! "
Translation of James Atkinson.


## p. 10672 (#552) ##########################################

10672
CHARLES NODIER
(1780-1844)
SURING the French Revolution, the Society of the Friends of
the Constitution, an offshoot of the Paris Jacobins, sprang up
at Besançon. M. Nodier, ex-mayor, and during the Terror
a sad but inexorable public accuser, was one of its leaders. His son
Charles, who was born at Besançon, April 28th, 1780, used to accom-
pany his father to the meetings of the society, of which he became
a member; and when he was twelve years old made his seniors an
eloquent address full of republican principles. These he always
retained, whether grumbling wittily at king,
consul, or emperor, as was his way. His
studies of political events in the Souve-
nirs are more entertaining than reliable.
He was not an active politician; but his
youthful expression of opinion, by embroil-
ing him with the authorities, influenced his
whole career.

CHARLES NODIER
About 1802 a satiric ode, 'Napoléone,'
prompted by the proscription of the consul-
ate, attracted attention. To rescue others
from suspicion, Nodier boldly admitted its
authorship. What followed is difficult to
determine, as he and his friends bewail
his sufferings, and others pronounce them
several years in exile, wandering through
During this time he made the friendship
a fabrication. He spent
the Vosges mountains.
of Benjamin Constant, and also saw much of Madame de Staël,
who may have inspired his love of German literature. German mys-
ticism appealed strongly to his fanciful spirit, as did the rich folk-
lore of Germany. Imaginative, a lover of nature, his early works-
'Les Meditations du Cloïtre,' 'Le Peintre de Salzburg,' 'Le Solitaire
des Vosges,' 'Stella, ou les Proscrits'-express a quite Byronic self-
indulgence in woe, with a tinge of Rousseau-like sentimentality.
His 'Dictionnaire des Onomatopées Françaises' (1808) was an in-
genious effort to establish the origin of languages from imitation of
natural sounds. This many-sided Charles Nodier was perhaps prima-
rily a scientist. He looked at life with microscopic eyes, and loved
minute investigation. As a boy in his native town, his much older


## p. 10673 (#553) ##########################################

CHARLES NODIER
10673
friend Chantras had aroused his interest in natural history; and
his first work was a 'Dissertation upon the Functions of Antennæ
in Insects. He is said to have discovered the organ of hearing in
insects. Now, just the fascination he found in a butterfly's wing or
a beetle's nippers, he found too in the study of language. To find
and fit the exact word gave him exquisite pleasure. Of all things he
detested easy banality; and whatever he wrote had a piquant novelty
of phrase which never seemed forced. This sweet-natured lover of
fairies was familiar with the classics and foreign literature, erudite in
the structure and usage of his mother tongue. In the mastery of
words, which makes his style as "flexible as water," he is a classicist.
"Boileau would have admired him," says a critic; and in his respect
for form he belongs to the old régime. But he was modern too.
His sympathies were not only for world-wide, world-old experience.
His fancy wandered off into side tracks; and sought the bizarre, the
exceptional, the mysterious. He admitted the personal element in
art; wanted to express himself, Charles Nodier; and thus is a fore-
runner of romanticism. It is a pity that his successors forgot his
lesson of moderation in inartistic excesses; for literary instinct kept
his own venturesome spontaneity always within the domain of good
taste.
The slender white-browed man with his piercing eyes, his childlike
enthusiasms, worked his way gradually to fame. In 1823 he was
appointed librarian at the library of the Arsénal in Paris; where for
more than twenty years, until his death in 1844, his salon was "a lit-
tle Tuileries for young writers and the new school. " Here Victor
Hugo, Lamartine, Dumas fils, De Musset, De Vigny, Sainte-Beuve, and
many another young man with fame before him, listened respectfully
to the Academician, the critic and teller of tales. Sainte-Beuve de-
scribes his lovable presence, his fascinating converse in which witty
irony was so veiled with tact as never to wound. One day a young
friend brought him a manuscript in which he had consciously tried
to imitate the master's style. "My dear boy," said Nodier, "what
you have brought me cannot be very good, for at first I thought it
must be mine. "
Nodier was a poet.
He loved what he calls "the Muse of the
Ideal, the elegant sumptuous daughter of Asia, who long ago took
refuge under the fogs of Great Britain. " His small volume of lyric
verse, published in 1827, has a melody and suggestive freakish grace
which make one wish it larger.
His stories are his best-known work, and in fiction his gifts are
many. There is a lofty sentiment in his more introspective sketches
which suggests Lamartine. In some moods he delights in elfland
dream goblins, kindly fays-as in Trilby, le Lutin d'Argaile,' 'La
XVIII-668


## p. 10674 (#554) ##########################################

10674
CHARLES NODIER
Fée aux Miettes,' 'Trésor des Fèves et Fleur des Pois,' 'Les Quatre
Talismans. Sometimes he is akin to Hoffmann in his expression of
psychologic mystery, in his eery enchantment. Of this, 'Smana, or
the Demons of Night' is a good example. He is a mocker too; and
in stories like 'Les Marionettes,' 'The King of Bohemia and his
Seven Castles,' he satirizes with sparkling irony both himself and the
world.
THE GOLDEN DREAM
THE KARDOUON
A$
S ALL the world knows, the Kardouon is the prettiest, the
cleverest, and the most courteous of lizards. The Kardouon
dresses in gold like a great lord, but he is shy and modest;
and from his solitary secluded life people think him a scholar.
The Kardouon has never done ill to any one, and every one loves
the Kardouon. The young girls are proud when, as they pass,
he gazes upon them with love and joy, erecting his neck of iri-
descent blue and ruby between the fissures of an old wall, or
sparkling in the sunshine with countless reflections from the mar-
velous tissue in which he is clad.
They say to each other: "It was I, not you, whom he looked
at to-day. He thought me the prettiest, and I'll be his love. "
The Kardouon thinks nothing of the kind. He is looking about
for good roots to feast his comrades, and to enjoy with them at
his leisure on a sparkling stone in the full noontide heat.
One day the Kardouon found in the desert a treasure com-
posed of bright new coins, so pretty and polished that they
seemed to have just bounded out with a groan from under the
measure. A fugitive king had left them there so that he could
go faster.
"Goodness of God! " said the Kardouon. "Here, if I'm not
much mistaken, is a precious provision just right for the winter.
It's nothing less than slices of that fresh sugary carrot which
always revives my spirits when solitude wearies me, and the
most appetizing I ever have seen. "
And the Kardouon glided toward the treasure -not directly,
for that is not his way, but winding about prudently; now with
head raised, nose in the air, his whole body in a straight line,
his tail vertical like a stake; then pausing undecided, inclining
first one eye then the other toward the ground, to listen with


## p. 10675 (#555) ##########################################

CHARLES NODIER
10675
each of his fine Kardouon's ears; then lifting his gaze, examining
right and left, listening to everything, seeing everything, grad-
ually reassuring himself; darting forward like a brave Kardouon;
then drawing back, palpitating with terror, like a poor Kardouon
far from his hole, who feels himself pursued; and then happy
and proud, arching his back, rounding his shoulders, rolling the
folds of his rich caparison, lifting the gilded scales of his coat of
mail, growing green, undulating, flying forward, flinging to the
winds the dust under his feet, and lashing it with his tail. Un-
questionably he was the handsomest of Kardouons.
When he had reached the treasure, he pierced it with his
glance, grew rigid as a piece of wood, drew himself up on his
two front feet and fell upon the first piece of gold which met
his teeth.
He broke one of them.
The Kardouon dashed ten feet backward, returned more
thoughtfully, and bit more modestly.
"They're abominably dry," he said. "Oh! when Kardouons
collect such a store of sliced carrots for their posterity, they
make a great mistake not to put them in a damp spot where
they would retain their nourishing quality! It must be admitted,"
he added to himself, "that the Kardouon species is not very
advanced. As for me, thank heaven, I dined the other day, and
don't need whatever wretched meal I can find, like a common
Kardouon. I'll carry this provender under the great tree of the
desert, among the grasses moist with the dew of heaven and
the freshness of springs. I will sleep beside it on the soft fine
sand, which the earliest dawn will warm; and when a clumsy
bee, dizzy from the blossom where she has spent the night, buzz-
ing about like a mad thing, awakens me with her humming, I
will begin the most regal repast ever made by a Kardouon. "
The Kardouon I am describing was a Kardouon of execution.
What he said he did, which is much. By evening the whole
treasure, transported piece by piece, was getting uselessly re-
freshed on a fine carpet of long silky moss, which bent beneath
its weight. Overhead an enormous tree stretched boughs luxuri-
ant with leaves and flowers, and seemed to invite passers-by to
enjoy a pleasant slumber in its shade.
And the tired Kardouon went peacefully to sleep, dreaming
of fresh roots.
This is the Kardouon's story.


## p. 10676 (#556) ##########################################

10676
CHARLES NODIER
XAILOUN
THE next day Xailoun, the poor wood-cutter, came to this same
spot, enticed by the melodious gurgle of running water, and by
the fresh and laughing rustle of the leaves. He was still far
from the forest, and as usual in no hurry to reach it, and this
restful place flattered his natural indolence.
As few knew Xailoun during his lifetime, I will say that he
was one of the disgraced children of nature, who seem born
merely to exist. As he was dull in mind and deformed in
body-although a good simple creature incapable of doing, of
thinking, or even of understanding, evil-his family had always
looked upon him as a subject of sadness and vexation. Constant
humiliations had early inspired Xailoun with a taste for solitude;
and this, and the fact that other professions were forbidden by
his weakness of mind, were the reasons why he had been made
a wood-cutter. In the town he was known only as silly Xailoun.
Indeed, the children followed him through the streets with mis-
chievous laughter, calling: "Room, room, for honest Xailoun.
Xailoun, the best-natured wood-cutter who ever held hatchet!
Behold him on his way to the glades of the wood to talk sci-
ence with his cousin the Kardouon. Ah! noble Xailoun! "
And his brothers, blushing in proud shame, retreated as he
passed.
But Xailoun did not seem to notice them, and he laughed
with the children.
Now it is not natural for any man to judge ill of his own
intelligence; and Xailoun used to think that the chief cause of
this daily disdain and derision was the poverty of his clothes.
He had decided that the Kardouon, who in the sunlight is the
most beautiful of all the dwellers of earth, was the most favored
of all God's creatures; and he secretly promised himself, if he
should ever attain his intimate friendship, to deck himself in some
cast-off bit of the Kardouon's costume, and stroll proudly about
the country to fascinate the eyes of the good folk.
"Moreover," he added, when he had reflected as much as his
Xailoun's judgment permitted, "the Kardouon is my cousin, they
say; and I feel it is true, from the sympathy which attracts me
toward this honorable personage. Since my brothers disdain me,
the Kardouon is my nearest of kin; and I want to live with him
if he welcomes me, even if I am good for nothing more than to


## p. 10677 (#557) ##########################################

CHARLES NODIER
10677
spread a bed of dried leaves for him every night, and to tuck
him in while he sleeps, and to warm his room with a bright
and cheerful fire when the weather is bad. The Kardouon may
grow old before I do; for he was nimble and beautiful when I
was still very young, and when my mother used to point and
say, 'See, there is the Kardouon. ' I know, thank God, how to
render little services to an invalid, and how to divert him with
pleasant trifles. It's too bad he's so haughty! "
In truth, the Kardouon did not usually respond cordially to
Xailoun's advances, but vanished in the sand like a flash at his
approach; and did not pause until safe behind a stone or hillock,
to turn on him sidewise two sparkling eyes, which might have
made carbuncles envious.
Then clasping his hands, Xailoun would say respectfully,
"Alas, cousin! why do you run away from your friend and com-
rade? I ask only to follow and to serve you instead of my
brothers, for whom I would willingly die, but who are less kind
and charming than you. If you chance to need a good servant,
do not repel, as they do, your faithful Xailoun. »
But the Kardouon always went away; and Xailoun returned
to his mother, weeping because his cousin the Kardouon would
not speak to him.
This day his mother had driven him off, pushing him by the
shoulders and striking him in her anger.
"Clear out, good-for-nothing! " she said to him. "Go back
to your cousin the Kardouon, for you don't deserve any other
kin.