No More Learning

Others, that all the sorcerers and witches of the country kept
there their sabbath or night's meeting.
The common opinion was that an ogre lived there; and that
he carried thither all the little children he could catch, that he
might eat them up at his leisure, without anybody being able to


## p. 11332 (#552) ##########################################

11332
CHARLES PERRAULT
follow him, as having himself alone the power to pass through
the wood.
The Prince was at a stand, not knowing what to believe, when
a very aged countryman spake to him thus:
"May it please your Royal Highness, it is now about fifty
years since I heard from my father, who heard my grandfather
say, that there was then in this castle a princess, the most
beautiful was ever seen; that she must sleep there a hundred
years, and should be waked by a king's son, for whom she was
reserved. »
-:
The young Prince was all on fire at these words, believing,
without weighing the matter, that he could put an end to this
rare adventure; and, pushed on by love and honor, resolved that
moment to look into it.
Scarce had he advanced towards the wood when all the great
trees, the bushes, and the brambles gave way of themselves to
let him pass through; he walked up to the castle which he saw
at the end of a large avenue which he went into; and what a
little surprised him was that he saw none of his people could
follow him, because the trees closed again as soon as he had
passed through them. However, he did not cease from continu-
ing his way: a young and amorous prince is always valiant.
He came into a spacious outward court, where everything he
saw might have frozen up the most fearless person with horror.
There reigned over all a most frightful silence; the image of
death everywhere showed itself, and there was nothing to be
seen but stretched-out bodies of men and animals, all seeming to
be dead. He however very well knew, by the ruby faces and
pimpled noses of the beefeaters, that they were only asleep; and
their goblets, wherein still remained some drops of wine, showed
plainly that they fell asleep in their cups.
He then crossed a court paved with marble, went up the
stairs, and came into the guard chamber, where guards were
standing in their ranks, with their muskets upon their shoulders,
and snoring as loud as they could. After that he went through
several rooms full of gentlemen and ladies all asleep, some stand-
ing, others sitting. At last he came into a chamber all gilded
with gold, where he saw upon a bed, the curtains of which were
all open, the finest sight that was ever beheld,- a princess, who
appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen years of age, and whose
bright, and in a manner resplendent, beauty had somewhat in it


## p. 11333 (#553) ##########################################

CHARLES PERRAULT
11333
divine. He approached with trembling and admiration, and fell
down before her upon his knees.
And now, as the enchantment was at an end, the Princess
awaked; and looking on him with eyes more tender than the
first view might seem to admit of,—
"Is it you, my Prince? " said she to him. "You have waited
a long while. "
The Prince, charmed with these words, and much more with
the manner in which they were spoken, knew not how to show
his joy and gratitude; he assured her that he loved her better.
than he did himself; their discourse was not well connected,
they did weep more than talk,- little eloquence, a great deal of
love. He was more at a loss than she, and we need not wonder
at it: she had time to think on what to say to him; for it is
very probable (though history mentions nothing of it) that the
good Fairy, during so long a sleep, had given her very agreeable
dreams. In short, they talked four hours together, and yet they
said not half what they had to say.
In the mean while all the palace awaked; every one thought
upon their particular business, and as all of them were not in
love they were ready to die for hunger. The chief lady of honor,
being as sharp set as other folks, grew very impatient, and told
the Princess aloud that supper was served up. The Prince helped
the Princess to rise: she was entirely dressed, and very magnifi-
cently, but his Royal Highness took care not to tell her that she
was dressed like his great-grandmother, and had a point band.
peeping over a high collar; she looked not a bit the less charm-
ing and beautiful for all that.
They went into the great hall of looking-glasses, where they
supped, and were served by the Princess's officers; the violins
and hautboys played old tunes, but very excellent, though it was
now above a hundred years since they had played; and after sup-
per, without losing any time, the lord almoner married them in
the chapel of the castle, and the chief lady of honor drew the
curtains. They had but very little sleep-the Princess had no
occasion; and the Prince left her next morning to return into the
city, where his father must needs have been in pain for him.
The Prince told him:-
――――
That he had lost his way in the forest as he was hunting, and
that he had lain in the cottage of a charcoal-burner, who gave
him cheese and brown bread.


## p. 11334 (#554) ##########################################

11334
CHARLES PERRAULT
The King, his father, who was a good man, believed him:
but his mother could not be persuaded it was true, and seeing
that he went almost every day a-hunting, and that he always had
some excuse ready for so doing, though he had lain out three or
four nights together, she began to suspect that he was married;
for he lived with the Princess above two whole years, and had
by her two children, the eldest of which, who was a daughter,
was named Morning, and the youngest, who was a son, they
called Day, because he was a great deal handsomer and more
beautiful than his sister.
The Queen spoke several times to her son, to inform herself
after what manner he did pass his time, and that in this he
ought in duty to satisfy her. But he never dared to trust her
with his secret: he feared her, though he loved her, for she was
of the race of the Ogres, and the King would never have mar-
ried her had it not been for her vast riches; it was even whis-
pered about the court that she had Ogreish inclinations, and
that whenever she saw little children passing by, she had all the
difficulty in the world to avoid falling upon them. And so the
Prince would never tell her one word.
But when the King was dead, which happened about two years
afterwards, and he saw himself lord and master, he openly de-
clared his marriage; and he went in great ceremony to conduct
his Queen to the palace. They made a magnificent entry into
the capital city, she riding between her two children.
Soon after, the King went to make war with the Emperor
Contalabutte, his neighbor. He left the government of the king-
dom to the Queen his mother, and earnestly recommended to
her care his wife and children. He was obliged to continue his
expedition all the summer; and as soon as he departed the Queen-
mother sent her daughter-in-law to a country house among the
woods, that she might with the more ease gratify her horrible
longing.
Some few days afterward she went thither herself, and said
to her clerk of the kitchen:
"I have a mind to eat little Morning for my dinner to-
morrow. "
"Ah, madam! " cried the clerk of the kitchen.
"I will have it so," replied the Queen (and this she spoke in
the tone of an Ogress who had a strong desire to eat fresh meat),
"and will eat her with a sauce, Robert. "


## p. 11335 (#555) ##########################################

CHARLES PERRAULT
11335
The poor man, knowing very well that he must not play
tricks with Ogresses, took his great knife and went up into little
Morning's chamber. She was then four years old; and came
up to him jumping and laughing, to take him about the neck.
and ask him for some sugar-candy. Upon which he began to
weep, the great knife fell out of his hand, and he went into the
back yard and killed a little lamb, and dressed it with such good
sauce that his mistress assured him she had never eaten anything
so good in her life. He had at the same time taken up little
Morning and carried her to his wife, to conceal her in the lodg-
ing he had at the bottom of the court-yard.
About eight days afterward the wicked Queen said to the
clerk of the kitchen, "I will sup upon little Day. "
He answered not a word, being resolved to cheat her as he
had done before. He went to find out little Day, and saw him
with a little foil in his hand, with which he was fencing with a
great monkey, the child being then only three years of age. He
took him up in his arms and carried him to his wife, that she
might conceal him in her chamber along with his sister; and
in the room of little Day cooked up a young kid, very tender,
which the Ogress found to be wonderfully good.
This was hitherto all mighty well; but one evening this
wicked Queen said to her clerk of the kitchen:
"I will eat the Queen with the same sauce I had with her
children. "
It was now that the poor clerk of the kitchen despaired of
being able to deceive her. The young Queen was turned of
twenty, not reckoning the hundred years she had been asleep;
and how to find in the yard a beast so firm was what puzzled
him. He took then a resolution, that he might save his own
life, to cut the Queen's throat; and going up into her chamber,
with intent to do it at once, he put himself into as great fury
as he could possibly, and came into the young Queen's room
with his dagger in his hand. He would not, however, surprise
her; but told her, with a great deal of respect, the orders he had
received from the Queen-mother.
"Do it; do it" (said she, stretching out her neck).
"Execute
your orders; and then I shall go and see my children, my poor
children, whom I so much and so tenderly loved. "
For she thought them dead ever since they had been taken
away without her knowledge.


## p. 11336 (#556) ##########################################

11336
CHARLES PERRAULT
"No, no, madam" (cried the poor clerk of the kitchen, all in
tears): "you shall not die, and yet you shall see your children
again; but then you must go home with me to my lodgings,
where I have concealed them, and I shall deceive the Queen
once more, by giving her in your stead a young hind. ”
Upon this he forthwith conducted her to his chamber, where,
leaving her to embrace her children and cry along with them,
he went and dressed a young hind, which the Queen had for her
supper, and devoured it with the same appetite as if it had been
the young Queen. Exceedingly was she delighted with her cru-
elty; and she had invented a story to tell the King, at his return,
how the mad wolves had eaten up the Queen his wife and her
two children.
One evening, as she was, according to her custom, rambling
round about the courts and yards of the palace to see if she
could smell any fresh meat, she heard, in a ground room, little
Day crying; for his mamma was going to whip him, because he
had been naughty: and she heard at the same time little Morn-
ing begging pardon for her brother.
The Ogress presently knew the voice of the Queen and her
children; and being quite mad that she had been thus deceived,
she commanded (with a most horrible voice, which made every-
body tremble) that next morning, by break of day, they should
bring into the middle of the great court a large tub, which she
caused to be filled with toads, vipers, snakes, and all sorts of
serpents, in order to have thrown into it the Queen and her
children, the clerk of the kitchen, his wife and maid; all whom
she had given orders should be brought thither with their hands.
tied behind them.
They were brought out accordingly, and the executioners were
just going to throw them into the tub, when the King (who was
not so soon expected) entered the court on horseback (for he
came post), and asked with the utmost astonishment what was
the meaning of that horrible spectacle.
No one dared to tell him; when the Ogress, all enraged to see
what had happened, threw herself head foremost into the tub, and
was instantly devoured by the ugly creatures she had ordered to
be thrown into it for others. The King could not but be very
sorry, for she was his mother; but he soon comforted himself
with his beautiful wife and his pretty children.


## p. 11337 (#557) ##########################################

CHARLES PERRAULT
11337
BLUE BEARD
HERE was a man who had fine houses, both in town and
country, a deal of silver and gold plate, embroidered fur-
niture, and coaches gilded all over with gold. But this
was so unlucky as to have a blue beard, which made him
so frightfully ugly that all the women and girls ran away from
man
him.
One of his neighbors, a lady of quality, had two daughters
who were perfect beauties. He desired of her one of them in
marriage, leaving to her choice which of the two she would
bestow on him. They would neither of them have him, and
sent him backwards and forwards from one another, not being
able to bear the thoughts of marrying a man who had a blue
beard; and what besides gave them disgust and aversion was his
having already been married to several wives, and nobody ever
knew what became of them.
Blue Beard, to engage their affection, took them, with the
lady their mother and three or four ladies of their acquaintance,
with other young people of the neighborhood, to one of his coun-
try seats, where they stayed a whole week.
There was nothing then to be seen but parties of pleasure,
hunting, fishing, dancing, mirth, and feasting. Nobody went to
bed, but all passed the night in rallying and joking with each
other. In short, everything succeeded so well that the youngest
daughter began to think the master of the house not to have a
beard so very blue, and that he was a mighty civil gentleman.
As soon as they returned home, the marriage was concluded.
About a month afterwards, Blue Beard told his wife that he was
obliged to take a country journey for six weeks at least, about
affairs of very great consequence, desiring her to divert herself
in his absence, to send for her friends and acquaintances, to
carry them into the country, if she pleased, and to make good
cheer wherever she was.
"Here," said he, "are the keys of the two great wardrobes,
wherein I have my best furniture; these are of my silver and
gold plate, which is not every day in use; these open my strong
boxes, which hold my money, both gold and silver; these my
caskets of jewels; and this is the master-key to all my apart-
ments. But for this little one here, it is the key of the closet at
the end of the great gallery on the ground floor. Open them all,


## p. 11338 (#558) ##########################################

11338
CHARLES PERRAULT
go into all and every one of them, except that little closet, which
I forbid you; and forbid it in such a manner that if you happen
to open it, there's nothing but what you may expect from my
just anger and resentment. "
She promised to observe, very exactly, whatever he had or-
dered; when he, after having embraced her, got into his coach
and proceeded on his journey.
Her neighbors and good friends did not stay to be sent for
by the new-married lady, so great was their impatience to see all
the rich furniture of her house, not daring to come while her
husband was there, because of his blue beard, which frightened
them. They ran through all the rooms, closets, and wardrobes,
which were all so fine and rich that they seemed to surpass one
another.
After that they went up into the two great rooms, where were
the best and richest furniture; they could not sufficiently admire
the number and beauty of the tapestry, beds, couches, cabinets,
stands, tables,- and looking-glasses in which you might see your-
self from head to foot; some of them were framed with glass,
others with silver, plain and gilded, the finest and most magnifi-
cent ever were seen.
They ceased not to extol and envy the happiness of their
friend, who in the mean time in no way diverted herself in look-
ing upon all these rich things, because of the impatience she had
to go and open the closet on the ground floor. She was so much
pressed by her curiosity that without considering that it was very
uncivil to leave her company, she went down a little back stair-
case, and with such excessive haste that she had twice or thrice
like to have broken her neck.
Being come to the closet door, she made a stop for some
time, thinking upon her husband's orders, and considering what
unhappiness might attend her if she was disobedient; but the
temptation was so strong she could not overcome it. She then
took the little key, and opened it, trembling, but could not at
first see anything plainly, because the windows were shut. After
some moments she began to perceive that the floor was all covered
over with clotted blood, on which lay the bodies of several dead
women, ranged against the walls. (These were all the wives
whom Blue Beard had married and murdered, one after another. )
She thought she should have died for fear; and the key, which
she pulled out of the lock, fell out of her hand.


## p. 11339 (#559) ##########################################

CHARLES PERRAULT
11339
After having somewhat recovered her surprise, she took up
the key, locked the door, and went up-stairs into her chamber to
recover herself; but she could not, so much was she frightened.
Having observed that the key of the closet was stained with
blood, she tried two or three times to wipe it off; but the blood
would not come out: in vain did she wash it, and even rub it
with soap and sand; the blood still remained, for the key was
magical and she could never make it quite clean; when the blood
was gone off from one side, it came again on the other.
Blue Beard returned from his journey the same evening, and
said he had received letters upon the road, informing him that
the affair he went about was ended to his advantage. His wife
did all she could to convince him she was extremely glad of
his speedy return.
Next morning he asked her for the keys, which she gave him,
but with such a trembling hand that he easily guessed what had
happened.
"What! " said he, "is not the key of my closet among the
rest? "
"I must certainly," said she, "have left it above upon the
table. "
"Fail not," said Blue Beard, "to bring it to me presently. "
After several goings backward and forward she was forced
to bring him the key. Blue Beard, having very attentively con-
sidered it, said to his wife:
"How comes this blood upon the key? ”
"I do not know," cried the poor woman, paler than death.
"You do not know! " replied Blue Beard. "I very well know.
You were resolved to go into the closet, were you not? Mighty
well, madam: you shall go in, and take your place among the
ladies you saw there. "
Upon this she threw herself at her husband's feet, and begged
his pardon with all the signs of a true repentance, vowing that
she would never more be disobedient. She would have melted a
rock, so beautiful and sorrowful was she; but Blue Beard had a
heart harder than any rock!
"You must die, madam," said he;
"and that presently. "
"Since I must die," answered she (looking upon him with her
eyes all bathed in tears), "give me some little time to say my
prayers. "
"I give you," replied Blue Beard, "half a quarter of an hour,
but not one moment more. "


## p. 11340 (#560) ##########################################

11340
CHARLES PERRAULT
When she was alone she called out to her sister, and said to
"Sister Anne" (for that was her name), "go up, I beg you,
upon the top of the tower, and look if my brothers are not com-
ing; they promised me that they would come to-day, and if you
see them, give them a sign to make haste. "
her:
Her sister Anne went up upon the top of the tower, and the
poor afflicted wife cried out from time to time:-
"Anne, sister Anne, do you see any one coming? "
And sister Anne said:-
"I see nothing but the sun, which makes a dust, and the
grass, which looks green. "
In the mean while Blue Beard, holding a great sabre in his
hand, cried out as loud as he could bawl to his wife:
"Come down instantly, or I shall come up to you. "
"One moment longer, if you please," said his wife; and then
she cried out very softly, "Anne, sister Anne, dost thou see any-
body coming? "
And sister Anne answered:
―――
"I see nothing but the sun, which makes a dust, and the
grass, which is green. "
"Come down quickly," cried Blue Beard, "or I will come up
to you. "
"I am coming," answered his wife; and then she cried, "Anne,
sister Anne, dost thou not see any one coming? "
"I see," replied sister Anne, "a great dust, which comes on
this side here. "
"Are they my brothers? "
"Alas! no, my dear sister: I see a flock of sheep. "
"Will you not come down? " cried Blue Beard.
"One moment longer," said his wife, and then she cried out,
"Anne, sister Anne, dost thou see nobody coming? "
"I see," said she, "two horsemen; but they are yet a great
way off. "
"God be praised," replied the poor wife joyfully: "they are
my brothers; I will make them a sign, as well as I can, for
them to make haste. "
Then Blue Beard bawled out so loud that he made the whole
house tremble. The distressed wife came down, and threw her-
self at his feet, all in tears, with her hair about her shoulders.
"This signifies nothing," says Blue Beard: "you must die;"
then, taking hold of her hair with one hand, and lifting up the


## p. 11341 (#561) ##########################################

CHARLES PERRAULT
11341
sword with the other, he was going to take off her head. The
poor lady, turning about to him, and looking at him with dying
eyes, desired him to afford her one little moment to recollect
herself.
"No, no," said he, "recommend thyself to God;" and was
just ready to strike.
At this very instant there was such a loud knocking at the
gate that Blue Beard made a sudden stop. The gate was
opened, and presently entered two horsemen, who, drawing their
swords, ran directly to Blue Beard. He knew them to be his
wife's brothers,-one a dragoon, the other a musketeer; so that
he ran away immediately to save himself: but the two brothers
pursued so close that they overtook him before he could get to
the steps of the porch, when they ran their swords through his
body and left him dead. The poor wife was almost as dead as
her husband, and had not strength enough to rise and welcome
her brothers.
Blue Beard had no heirs, and so his wife became mistress of
all his estate. She made use of one part of it to marry her sis-
ter Anne to a young gentleman who had loved her a long while;
another part to buy captains' commissions for her brothers; and
the rest to marry herself to a very worthy gentleman, who made
her forget the ill time she had passed with Blue Beard.
TOADS AND DIAMONDS
THE
HERE was once upon a time a widow who had two daughters.
The eldest was like herself in face and humor.
Both were
so disagreeable and so proud that there was no living with
them. The youngest, who was the very picture of her father for
courtesy and sweetness of temper, was withal one of the most
beautiful girls ever seen. As people naturally love their own.
likeness, this mother doted on her eldest daughter, and had a,
horrible aversion for the youngest: she made her eat in the
kitchen and work continually.
Among other things, this poor child was forced twice a day
to draw water above a mile and a half off the house, and bring
home a pitcher full of it. One day, as she was at this fountain,
there came to her a poor woman, who begged of her to let her
drink.
"Oh! ay, with all my heart, Goody," said this pretty little
girl; and immediately rinsing the pitcher, she took up some water


## p. 11342 (#562) ##########################################

11342
CHARLES PERRAULT
from the clearest place of the fountain and gave it to her, hold-
ing up the pitcher all the while that she might drink the easier.
The good woman having drunk, said to her, "You are so very
pretty, my dear, so good and so mannerly, that I cannot help giv-
ing you a gift. " For this was a fairy, who had taken the form of
a poor countrywoman to see how far the civility and good man-
ners of this pretty girl would go. "I will give you for gift, that
at every word you speak, there shall come out of your mouth
either a flower or a jewel. "
[When this occurred on her return, the mother at once sent the elder
sister, with the best silver tankard, to the fountain on the same errand; which
she resented as menial's work. ]
[The elder sister] was no sooner at the fountain than she
saw coming out of the wood a lady most gloriously dressed, who
came up to her and asked to drink. This was the very fairy
who appeared to her sister, but had now taken the air and dress.
of a princess to see how far this girl's rudeness would go.
"Am I come hither," said the proud, saucy slut, "to serve you
with water, pray? I suppose the silver tankard was brought
purely for your Ladyship, was it? However, you may drink out
of it if you have a fancy. ”
The fairy answered without putting herself in a passion,
"Since you have so little breeding and are so disobliging, I give
you for gift that at every word you speak there shall come out
of your mouth a snake or a toad. "
[This also occurring, the mother blamed and beat the younger sister, who
ran away and hid in the forest, where the king's son met her and asked why
she was alone there weeping. ]
[Said the younger sister,] "Alas, sir! my mamma has turned
me out of doors. "
The king's son, who saw five or six pearls and as many dia-
monds come out of her mouth, desired her to tell him how that
happened. She hereupon told him the whole story; and so the
king's son fell in love with her, and considering with himself
that such a gift was worth more than any marriage portion, con-
ducted her to the palace of the king his father, and there mar-
ried her.
As for her sister, she made herself so much hated that her
own mother turned her off; and the miserable wretch, having
wandered about a good while without finding anybody to take
her in, went to a corner of the wood, and there died.


## p. 11343 (#563) ##########################################

11343
ai
JA
PERSIUS (AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS)
(34-62 A. D. )
HE fame of Persius is perhaps more difficult to account for
than that of any other equally eminent author. His brief
life was chiefly spent under the crushing tyranny of the
worst among the early Cæsars. Real freedom of speech was impos-
sible. Persius, as he himself confesses, was not a true singer. He
had not the poet's joyous creative imagination. Even the claim of
originality, in style or in substance, is denied him. His voice-
thinner, shriller, less articulate than his master's-is still the voice of
Horace; and he lashes essentially the same
foibles, though with a far more savage swing
of the whip. Had Lucilius's satires sur-
vived, they would probably have reduced to
still smaller space the claims of Persius to
originality. The work of the latter is im-
mature and fragmentary, consisting of six
satires, only six hundred and fifty hexam-
eters in all, to which should be added the
fourteen "limping iambics" of the modest,
but perhaps spurious, Epilogue.

Yet the fact remains, that Persius has
held firmly his position as third in rank
among Latin satirists. This, moreover, is
the one field wherein the Romans acknowl-
SC CU PP
PERSIUS
edged no Hellenic models or masters. Hardly any ancient poet sur-
vives in better or more numerous manuscripts. Few have a more
brilliant line of modern editors, from Casaubon to Conington and
Gildersleeve. This can be no mere accident, still less the favoritism
shown to a popular young aristocrat. Something of vitality the little
book must have had.
Our first impression is of extreme incoherence and obscurity. Yet
in this there is nothing of pedantic willfulness. The note of sincer-
ity, the strident intolerant sincerity of youth, pierces our ear quickly,
despite all the inarticulate verbiage.
Even in this brief career too
we seem to trace a line of progress toward calmer, clearer, more
genial self-utterance. Especially the tender lines to his old tutor
Cornutus leave us "wishing for more"; which is perhaps the rarest
triumph of the satirist, in particular. Professor Conington declares


## p. 11344 (#564) ##########################################

PERSIUS
11344
that as Lucretius represents Epicureanism in poetry, so Persius stands
no less completely for Roman Stoicism. The concession is at once
added, however, that Divine Philosophy, in that unhappy age, could
teach little more than manly endurance of the inevitable.
Altogether, unless we confess that obscurity itself may draw
the thronging commentators till they darken the very air above it,-
we must consider that Persius offers us one more illustration that the
fearless frank word of the austere moralist is never hopelessly out of
season, but may re-echo for evermore. Or, to change the figure:-
-
"How far that little candle throws its beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world. "
The edition of Persius by Professor Gildersleeve (Harper, 1875) is
especially valuable for its linguistic and stylistic comment; the more
as Persius, like Plautus and Catullus, used more largely than the
other poets that lingua volgare from which the Romance languages
take their direct descent. The more indolent student, however, will
find his way to Conington's edition, more recently revised by Nettle-
ship, which includes a capital prose translation on parallel pages. To
this graceful version the present translator confesses his heavy in-
debtedness.
THE AUTHOR'S AMBITION
WⓇ
E WRITE, locked in,- one prose, another verse;
Of lofty style, that may be panted forth
With liberal lung. Yes, to the folk, some day,
Spruce in your fresh new toga, all in white,
Wearing your birthday ring, from some high seat
These things you hope to read, after your throat
Is gargled clear with trills, yourself o'ercome,
With swimming eyes! The sturdy Romans then,
Losing all dignity of mien and voice,
You'd fain see quivering, while the verses glide
Into their bones; their marrow tickled by
The rippling strain!
-
What! an old man like you
Would gather tidbits up for alien ears,
Yourself, at last wearied, to cry "Enough »?
So much for pallor and austerity!
Oh, evil day! Is then your knowledge worth
So little, unless others know you know?


## p. 11345 (#565) ##########################################

PERSIUS
11345
But it is pleasant to be pointed at
With the forefinger, and to hear, "That's he!
Ay, there he goes! " Would you not like to be
By a full hundred curly-headed boys
Conned as their lesson?
Lo, the heroic sons
Of Romulus sit at their wine, full-fed,
To hear the tale of sacred Poesy.
Some fellow, with a hyacinthine robe
Over his shoulders, with a snuffling lisp
Utters some mawkish stuff, of Phyllises,
Hypsipylas, or whate'er heroines
By bard bewailed. The gentry add their praise;
And now the poet's dust is happy? Now
The stone is resting lighter on his bones?
The humbler guests applaud; and from his tomb
And blessed ashes and his Manes now
Shall not the violets spring?
XIX-710
A CHILD'S TRICK
OFTEN touched my eyes, I recollect,
I
With oil, in boyhood, if I did not wish
To learn by heart the dying Cato's words;
Which my daft master loudly would applaud,
And with a glow of pride my father heard
As I recited to his gathered friends.
"WE TWA»
I
SPEAK not to the throng. I give my heart-
As the Muse bids me
- unto you to sift.
-
It is my joy to show, O sweet my friend,
To you, how large a part of me is yours.
Strike, and with caution test how much rings true,
What is mere plaster of a varnished tongue.
A hundred voices I might dare to crave,
That I in clearest utterance might reveal
How in my heart's recesses you are fixed.
So might my words all that unseal which lies,
Not to be uttered, in my heart-strings hid.


## p. 11346 (#566) ##########################################

11346
PERSIUS
Just where the path of life uncertain grows,
And cross-ways lead the doubtful mind astray,
I gave myself to you. My tender years
To your Socratic bosom you received,
Cornutus.
I remember well
How the long summer suns I spent with you,
And with you plucked the early hours of night
For our repast. One task there was for both;
Our rest we took together, and relaxed
Our graver fancies at our frugal meal.
[The foregoing translations were made for 'A Library of the World's Best
Literature by W. C. Lawton. ]


## p. 11346 (#567) ##########################################

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## p. 11346 (#569) ##########################################

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## p. 11346 (#570) ##########################################

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## p. 11347 (#571) ##########################################

11347
ALEXANDER PETÖFI
(1823-1849)
BY CHARLES HARVEY GENUNG
IKE most of the Continental poets who rose to fame during
the first half of the nineteenth century, Petöfi brought to
the work of poetic creation the glow of a passionate pat-
riotism. As Leopardi put into song the dreams of a united Italy,
as Mickiewicz strengthened the proud heart of vanquished Poland,
and as Körner sang and died for the liberation of his fatherland, so
Petöfi fired the patriotism of Hungary, and found an unmarked grave
upon the battle-field of her liberties. No other singer of any land
has ever become in so intimate a sense the universal poet of his peo-
ple as this greatest of Hungarian bards. Burns holds in the hearts of
Scotchmen approximately the place that Petöfi has won in the affec-
tions of his ardent countrymen. But Petöfi means more to Hungary
than Burns to Scotland. He was not the poet only, but the popular
hero as well. His brilliant successes, his romantic career, his fascinat-
ing character, and his mysterious disappearance on the field of bat-
tle, before he had completed his twenty-seventh year, have thrown a
mystic glamour over his name. His career was meteoric though his
glory is permanent. He himself vanished like a wandering star, and
the spot where he fell no man knows. For years it was believed
that he still went up and down the land in disguise, and many false
Petöfis put forth poems under that charmed name. The report that
he had been captured by the Russians and exiled to Siberia caused
intense excitement, not in Hungary alone, but throughout Germany
and Austria. There can be little doubt, however, that he was buried
in the general trench with fellow patriots unnumbered and unknown.
Alexander Petöfi was born in the small village of Kis-Körös in
the early New Year's morning of 1823. In the veins of this intensely
national poet of Hungary there flowed not a drop of Hungarian
blood. His father, a well-to-do butcher, was a Serbian named Pe-
trovics; his mother was a Slovenian. His temperament and char-
acter, however, were entirely Hungarian. He was ashamed of the
Slavic sound of his family name, and both as actor and as poet
he assumed various appellations. His growing fame decided him to
adopt the name which he has immortalized, of Petöfi. His nature


## p. 11348 (#572) ##########################################

11348
ALEXANDER PETŐFI
was wild and wayward. He led a wanderer's life, and played many
rôles. He was student, actor, soldier, vagabond. It was the persist-
ent mistake of his life that, like Wilhelm Meister, he believed him-
self to be an actor, and through the most humiliating experiences he
clung to this error. In the midst, however, of his most sordid trials,
his efforts to attain self-culture were put forth with an unremitting
energy almost pathetic. In his knapsack he carried Shakespeare,
Schiller, and Homer. At the age of nineteen he had mastered the
most difficult metres of the ancients, and acquired a good knowledge
of the chief modern languages. In Paza, he formed with Jókai the
statesman and novelist, and Orlai the artist, an interesting circle.
Jókai gives an amusing account of the hallucinations which blinded
each of the three as to his special capability. Orlai, who has won
fame as a painter, believed himself a poet; the actor Petöfi de-
claimed his lines; while Jókai, believing himself an artist, furnished
the illustrations.
It was Vörösmarty, the senior poet of Hungary, who first recog-
nized Petöfi's genius and set it right. He was one of the editors
of the chief Hungarian magazine, the Athenæum, and here in 1842
appeared Petöfi's first poem. In 1844 a collection of the poems was
brought out in book form, and their instant and wide-spread success
justified Vörösmarty's judgment. The new poet was received with
universal acclaim, and developed a lyric productivity little less than
marvelous. He wrote several excellent village tales, a novel called
'The Hangman's Rope,' and two dramas which were failures. His
studies in foreign literatures bore fruit in numerous translations.
His version of Shakespeare's 'Coriolanus' has become a part of the
regular repertoire of the Hungarian stage. But it was in the 1775
lyric poems that Petöfi's true genius appeared. He was a poet in
the simplest purest sense, and thousands to whom his name was yet
unknown sang his songs at fair and festival. They seemed like the
spontaneous expression of the people themselves, who had waited for
their appointed mouthpiece. Faithfulness and naturalness distinguish
his poetry.
He was the first to free himself from the scholastic
formalism which had theretofore dominated Hungarian literature, and
so incurred at the hands of conservative criticism the charge of vul-
garity. What he did was to show that the simple, the childlike, and
the natural were compatible with the genuinely poetical. A shadow
of the spirit of Heine and Byron fell upon Petöfi's verse, but does
not characterize it; and to his personality attached the same fasci-
nating charm that they excited. His love adventures were manifold,
and many a fair maiden has been celebrated by exquisite poems, in
which no impure note is ever struck. Every poem bears the stamp
of actual experience and genuine feeling. In the simple language of


## p. 11349 (#573) ##########################################

ALEXANDER PETŐFI
11349
every-day life Petöfi has sung of the sorrows, the aspirations, the
loves, and the gayety of the Hungarian people; in his verse is the
passionate glow, the melancholy, and the humor of the race; it is
the purest expression of the national temperament and character.
Herman Grimm has not hesitated to declare that Petöfi ranks
"among the very greatest poets of all times and tongues. " It is a
singular fact that with all his superb lyric quality and musical lilt,
Petöfi had no ear or taste for music.
The year 1847 marked the culmination of the poet's happiness
and success. A richly printed edition of his collected poems ap-
peared, and their beauty in the mass silenced forever the voice of
adverse criticism. In that year he married, and in that year he
found the best friend of his life, the epic poet Arany. About the
laurel crown of the national poet were soon to be twined the oak
wreaths also of a national hero. The ideas which inspired the revo-
lution of 1849 were dimly foreshadowed in some of Petöfi's earlier
poems. To his efforts and to those of Jókai it was chiefly due that
the celebrated reform programme, with the twelve demands of the
Hungarian nation, was drawn up and adopted. On March 15th, 1848,
was published the first work that appeared under the new laws estab-
lishing the freedom of the press. This was Petöfi's famous song
"Talpra Magyar' (Up, Magyar), the Hungarian Marseillaise. It was
the beginning of a series of impassioned revolutionary lyrics. The
articles which Petöfi contributed to the newspapers at that time are
valuable historical documents of the revolution. In September 1848
he entered the army, and served under General Bem, whose ad-
jutant he became. He had no qualifications for a soldier's career
except a passionate patriotism and unshrinking courage. His erratic
nature would not conform to the strictness of military discipline; but
to the poet whom the nation idolized, large liberties were accorded,
and in hours of peril he displayed heroic qualities. He fought at
the great battle of Szegesvár on July 31st, 1849, in which the Hunga-
rians were defeated; and he has never been seen since. His grave
is with the unknown; and the wish which he uttered in song, that
flowers should be scattered where he rests, must remain forever un-
fulfilled. A fairer and more enduring tribute is the love his people
bear him. His poetry is a national treasure, which Hungary cher-
ishes as a sacred possession.
Chart Gruning
вни


## p. 11350 (#574) ##########################################

11350
ALEXANDER PETŐFI
M
MASTER PAUL
ASTER Paul was angry: in his ire
Threw his hat,
Like a log, into the blazing fire
What of that?
Talked about his wife till he was hoarse:
"Curse her I'll apply for a divorce!
No! I'll chase her out of doors instead;
And he did exactly what he said.
Master Paul got cooler after that -
Very cool!
"What a fool to throw away my hat-
What a fool!
What a fool to drive her from the door!
Now I shall be poorer than before;
For she kept the house, and earned her bread;»
And it was exactly as he said.
Master Paul got angrier, angrier yet:
Took his hat,
Flung it from him in his passionate pet-
What of that?
"Toil and trouble is man's wretched lot,
And one more misfortune matters not:
Let it go unsheltered be my head;"
And he did exactly as he said.
――――――――
Freed from all this world's anxieties,
Master Paul
Pulled his hat indignant o'er his eyes-
"All, yes! all,
All is gone, my partner and my pelf:
Naught is left me but to hang myself,
So of all my troubling cares get rid;".
And exactly as he said, he did.


## p. 11351 (#575) ##########################################

ALEXANDER PETÖFI
11351
SONG OF LAMENT
O
H, WITH what fascinating bursts and swells
Breaks out the music of the village bells,
Upon the ear of the roused peasant falling,
And to the church devotions gently calling!
What sweet remembrances that music brings
Of early thoughts and half-forgotten things:
Things half forgotten, yet on these past dreams
Distinct, as living life, one figure beams
In brightness and in youthful beauty-she
Sleeps her long sleep beneath the willow-tree;
There I my never-wearied vigils keep,
And there I weep, and cannot cease to weep.
MAY-NIGHT
NIGH
IGHT of May! thou night of peace and silence,
When the moonlight silvers the starred vault;
Tell me then, blonde maiden! blue-eyed floweret,
Shining pearl! what thoughts thy heart assault.
Mine are misty dreamings, passing shadows;
But they keep me sleepless-crowning me
Like the monarch of a mighty kingdom,
And the crown is held, dear maid! is held by thee.
What a theft it were, and what a contrast
With the trashy purse that thieves purloin,
Could I steal these dreams, and then convert them
Into solid and substantial coin!
DREAMING
I
IS IT a dream that shows me
Yonder vision airy?
Is she a mortal maiden?
Is she a spirit fairy?
Whether maiden or fairy,
Little indeed I care,
Would she only love me,
Smiling sweetly there.


## p. 11352 (#576) ##########################################

ALEXANDER PETÖFI
11352
FAITHFULNESS
TH
HERE on the mountain a rose-blossom blows;
Bend o'er my bosom thy forehead which glows;
Whisper, O whisper sweet words in mine ear,
Say that thou lovest me, what rapture to hear!
-
Down on the Danube the evening sun sinks,
Gilding the wavelets that dance on its brinks;
As the sweet river has cradled the sun,
Cradled I rest upon thee, lovely one!
I have been slandered, the slanderers declare;
Let God forgive them,-I utter no prayer;
Now let them listen, while prayerful I pour
All my heart's offerings on her I adore.
A VOW
I
'LL be a tree, if thou wilt be its blossom;
I'll be a flower, if thou wilt be its dew;
I'll be the dew, if thou wilt be the sunbeam;
Where'er thou art, let me be near thee too.
Wert thou the heaven of blue, beloved maiden,
I a fixed star in that blue heaven would be;
And wert thou doomed to hell itself, dear woman,
I'd seek perdition to be near to thee.
SORROW AND JOY
Α
ND what is sorrow? 'Tis a boundless sea.
And what is joy?
A little pearl in that deep ocean's bed;
I sought it-found it—held it o'er my head,
And to my soul's annoy,
It fell into the ocean's depth again,
And now I look and long for it in vain.


## p. 11353 (#577) ##########################################

ALEXANDER PETŐFI
11353
A
WIFE AND SWORD
DOVE upon the house-roof,
Above in heaven a star;
Thou on my bosom sleeping —
How sweet thy breathings are!
Soft as the morning dewdrops
Upon the rose leaves fall,
Thou in my arms reposest,
My love, my wife, my all!
Why should I not embrace thee
With kisses manifold?
My lips are rich with kisses,
So gushing, so untold.
We talk, we toy, we trifle,
We revel in love's bliss;
And snatch at every breathing
A kiss another kiss.
But who that bliss can measure,
Sparkling in every glance?
It crests thy lips with beauty,
It lights thy countenance.
I look upon my sabre,
'Tis idly hung above;
And does it not reproach me-
"Why so absorbed in love? »
Thou old
thou young companion!
So wildly looking down;
I hear thy voice of anger,
――――――
I see thy threatening frown.
"Shame-shame on thee, deserter!
Thus trifling with a wife;
Awake! thy country calls thee
For liberty, for life. "
And I "She is so lovely,
So witching, so divine,-
The gift of heavenly beauty,
This angel-love of mine!


## p. 11354 (#578) ##########################################

11354
ALEXANDER PETÖFI
"Oh, recognize the mission,
Intrusted from the sky,
To this celestial envoy,
And hail her embassy. "
She heard the word; she echoed
That word-"The Fatherland! '
I buckle on the sabre,
With mine own plighted hand.
"I charge thee, save thy country-
'Tis mine, 'tis thine-for both;
Off to the field of victory,
And there redeem thy troth. "
OUR COUNTRY
TH
HE sun went down, but not a starlet
Appeared in heaven,- all dark above;
No light around, except the taper
Dim glimmering, and my homely love.
That homely love's a star in heaven
That shines around both near and far,
A home of sadness-sad Hungaria!
Where wilt thou find that lovely star?
And now my taper flickers faintly,
And midnight comes; but in the gleam,
Faint as it is, I see a shadow
Which half reveals a future dream.
It brightens as the daybreak brightens
Each flame brings forth a mightier flame;
There stand two figures in the nimbus,—
Old Magyar honor, Magyar fame.
O Magyars! look not on your fathers,
But bid them hide their brows in night;
Your eyes are weak, those suns are dazzling,
Ye cannot bear that blasting light.
Time was those ancient, honored fathers
Could speak the threatening, thundering word;
'Twas like the bursting of the storm-wind,
And Europe, all responsive, heard!


## p. 11355 (#579) ##########################################

ALEXANDER PETÖFI
11355
Great was the Magyar then: his country
Honored, his name a history
Of glory, now a star extinguished,
A fallen star in Magyar sea.
――――――
'Twas long ago the laurel garland
Was round the Magyar forehead bound;
Shall fancy, eagle-pinioned, ever
See Magyar hero-brow recrowned?
That laurel crown so long has faded,
So long thy light has ceased to gleam,
Thy greatness seems a myth, thy story
A fable of the past a dream!
-
Long have mine eyes been dry and tearless,
But now I weep; and can it be
That these are dews of spring - the dawning
Of brighter days for Hungary?
And can it can it be a meteor,
That for a moment burst and blazed,
Lighted with brightness all the heavens,
And sunk in darkness while we gazed?
No! 'tis a comet, whose returning
Is sure as is the march of doom;
Hungary shall hail it, blazing, burning. -
It cannot, will not fail to come.
ONE ONLY THOUGHT
Ο
NE thought torments me sorely-'tis that I
Pillowed on a soft bed of down may die;
Fade slowly, like a flower, and pass away
Under the gentle pressure of decay;
Paling as pales a fading, flickering light
In the dark, lonesome solitude of night.
O God!