No More Learning

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.


## p. 8510 (#118) ###########################################

8510
JOHN KEATS
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI
A"
H, WHAT can ail thee, wretched wight, *
Alone and palely loitering ?
The sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone ?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faëry's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faöry's song.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone:
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
“I love thee true. ”
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gazed and sighèd deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes —
So kissed to sleep.
And there we slumbered on the moss,
And there I dreamed - ah! woe betide -
* In the version by Lord Houghton of this poem, this line and its repetition
in the second stanza run, «Oh, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms! ) and that
form of the line is often met, with other changes.


## p. 8511 (#119) ###########################################

JOHN KEATS
8511
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hillside.
I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cry'd — "La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall! »
I saw their starved lips in the gloom
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hillside.
And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
SONNET
ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER
M
UCH have I traveled in the realms of gold,
And many goodly States and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific - and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise —
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
SONNET
ON SEEING THE ELGIN MARBLES
M* Weighs heavily
Y spirit is too weak: mortality
Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep;
And each imagined pinnacle and steep
Of godlike hardship, tells me I must die,
Like a sick eagle looking at the sky.
Yet 'tis a gentle luxury to weep


## p. 8512 (#120) ###########################################

8512
JOHN KEATS
That I have not the cloudy winds to keep,
Fresh for the opening of the morning's eye.
Such dim-conceived glories of the brain
Bring round the heart an undescribable feud;
So do these wonders a most dizzy pain,
That mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude
Wasting of old Time — with a billowy main –
A sun a shadow of a magnitude.
SONNET
WRITTEN ON A BLANK PAGE IN SHAKESPEARE'S POEMS,
FACING A Lover's COMPLAINT)
B
ܬ܀
RIGHT star, would I were steadfast as thou art:
Not in lone splendor hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors;
No- yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest;
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever- - or else swoon to death.


## p. 8513 (#121) ###########################################

8513
JOHN KEBLE
(1792–1866)
AG
He Christian Year,' a small volume of religious poems, ap-
peared in 1827. The verses had all the scholarly simplicity
resulting from classical study, and critics quickly recognized
artistic workmanship. But the immediate and astonishing popu-
larity of the work was due to its personal character. It was the
most soothing, tranquillizing, subduing work of the day,” said New-
man: “if poems can be found to enliven in dejection and to comfort
in anxiety, to cool the over-sanguine, to refresh the weary, and to
awe the worldly, to instill resignation into
the impatient and calmness into the fearful
and agitated, they are these. ” Many men
and women found solace in these voicings
of their own religious life.
The author, John Keble, was not ambi-
tious of literary fame. He had written his
poems from time to time as he felt the
need of self-expression, and it was only
after long persuasion from his friends that
he consented to make them public.
There is something of the mellow bright-
ness of a summer Sunday about his life and
work. “Dear John Keble,” as his associates
JOHN KEBLE
called him, was a most ardent churchman.
With a rare patience and sympathy for repentant sinners he combined
an implacable condemnation of wrong-doing, which won him respect
as well as love. Throughout the religious storm which, emanating
from Oxford, shook all England, - which forced John Henry Newman
unwillingly away from his friends and his church, — Keble was
stanch support to more vacillating spirits. His sermon upon apos-
tasy preached in 1833 stirred up people's consciences, and may be
said to have initiated the Tractarian movement. He himself wrote
several of the more important «Tracts for the Times. '
His entire life was passed in intimate connection with the church.
He was born at Fairford, Gloucestershire, in 1792, but was very young
when his father became vicar of Coln-St. -Aldwynd. The elder Keble
a sweet-natured man and a fine classical student, who took
charge himself of his son's early education; and so successfully that

(
a
was
XV-533


## p. 8514 (#122) ###########################################

8514
JOHN KEBLE
was
at fifteen John Keble was admitted to Corpus Christi College, Oxford.
From that time the University became very dear to him; and later
he exercised an important influence over a long succession of under-
graduates. He was appointed a Fellow of Oriel College in 1811, and
a tutor in Oxford for several years. Then he returned to his
country home, and led a serene yet earnest life with his family while
serving as his father's curate. The great success of The Christian
Year resulted in his appointment as professor of poetry at Oxford in
1833,— a congenial position, which he filled most capably. Soon after
his father's death in 1835, he married and became vicar of Hursley
near Winchester, where he lived until his death in 1866.
He was not a prolific writer, and his occasional poems were
carefully and frequently remodeled. In 1846 he published a second
volume, called “Lyra Innocentium”; but although graceful and pleas-
ing, it was less cordially received than (The Christian Year. '
THE NIGHTINGALE
L
ESSONS sweet of spring returning,
Welcome to the thoughtful heart!
May I call ye sense of learning,
Instinct pure, or heaven-taught art ?
Be your title what it may,
Sweet and lengthening April day,
While with you the soul is free,
Ranging wild o'er hill and lea.
Soft as Memnon's harp at morning
To the inward ear devout,
Touched by light, with heavenly warning
Your transporting chords ring out.
Every leaf in every nook,
Every wave in every brook,
Chanting with a solemn voice,
Minds us of our better choice.
Needs no show of mountain hoary,
Winding shore or deepening glen,
Where the landscape in its glory
Teaches truth to wandering men:
Give true hearts but earth and sky,
And some flowers to bloom and die, -
Homely scenes and simple views
Lowly thoughts may best infuse.


## p. 8515 (#123) ###########################################

JOHN KEBLE
8515
ord
atei
and
bis
See the soft green willow springing
Where the waters gently pass,
Every way her free arms flinging
O'er the moss and reedy grass.
Long ere winter blasts are fled,
See her tipped with vernal red,
And her kindly flower displayed
Ere her leaf can cast a shade.
shie
sta
afte:
rsies
were
Deas
Though the rudest hand assail her,
Patiently she droops awhile,
But when showers and breezes hail her,
Wears again her willing smile.
Thus I learn contentment's power
From the slighted willow bower,
Ready to give thanks and live
On the least that Heaven may give.
If, the quiet brooklet leaving,
Up the stony vale I wind,
Haply half in fancy grieving
For the shades I leave behind,
By the dusty wayside drear,
Nightingales with joyous cheer
Sing, my sadness to reprove,
Gladlier than in cultured grove.
Where the thickest boughs are twining
Of the greenest, darkest tree,
There they plunge, the light declining;
All may hear, but none may see.
Fearless of the passing hoof,
Hardly will they fleet aloof;
So they live in modest ways,
Trust entire, and ceaseless praise.
CHRIST IN THE GARDEN
From The Christian Year)
O
LORD my God, do thou thy holy will —
I will lie still;
I will not stir, lest I forsake thine arm,
And break the charm
Which lulls me, clinging to my Father's breast,
In perfect rest.


## p. 8516 (#124) ###########################################

8516
JOHN KEBLE
Wild Fancy, peace! thou must not me beguile
With thy false smile;
I know thy flatteries and thy cheating ways;
Be silent, Praise,
Blind guide with siren voice, and blinding all
That hear thy call.
Mortal! if life smile on thee, and thou find
All to thy mind,
Think who did once from heaven to hell descend,
Thee to befriend:
So shalt thou dare forego, at His dear call,
Thy best, thine all.
1.
“O Father! not my will, but thine, be done,– ”
So spake the Son.
Be this our charin, mellowing earth's ruder noise
Of griefs and joys:
That we may cling forever to Thy breast
In perfect rest!
MORNING
From the (Episcopal Church Hymnal)
Ew every morning is the love
Our wakening and uprising prove;
Through sleep and darkness safely brought,
Restored to life, and power, and thought.
N"
New mercies each returning day
Hover around us while we pray;
New perils past, new sins forgiven,
New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.
If on our daily course our mind
Be set to hallow all we find,
New treasures still of countless price
God will provide for sacrifice.
Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,
As more of heaven in each we see;
Some softening gleam of love and prayer
Shall dawn on every cross and care.


## p. 8517 (#125) ###########################################

JOHN KEBLE
8517
The trivial round, the common task,
Will furnish all we need to ask;
Room to deny ourselves, a road
To bring us daily nearer God.
Only, O Lord, in thy dear love,
Fit us for perfect rest above;
And help us, this and every day,
To live more nearly as we pray.
nd,
EVENING HYMN
From the Episcopal Church Hymnal)
UN of my soul, thou Savior dear,
It is not night if thou be near;
Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise
To hide thee from thy servant's eyes.
S
ise
When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My weary eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
Forever on my Savior's breast.
Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without thee I cannot live;
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without thee I dare not die.
brought,
If some poor wandering child of thine
Have spurned to-day the voice divine,
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin :
Let him no more lie down in sin.
Watch by the sick; enrich the poor
With blessings from thy boundless store;
Be every mourner's sleep to-night
Like infant's slumbers, pure and light.
2n.
Come near and bless us when we wake,
Ere through the world our way we take,
Till in the ocean of thy love
We lose ourselves in heaven above.
1


## p. 8518 (#126) ###########################################

8518
ki sever
tai there
GOTTFRIED KELLER
that 2016
maducro
(1815-1890)
(titral th
it is the
T
incress o
Tas Tepe
msaid
Bust
the col
These t
they al
IT DE
iemon
horing
HE German Cantons of Switzerland, which during the early
eighteenth century occupied so prominent a place in the
annals of German culture, have in the present century done
much to regain this prominence. The brilliantly imaginative and
richly colored paintings of Arnold Böcklin, Conrad Ferdinand Meyer's
semi-historical romances, charged with the emotional fervor of our own
time, and above all, the exquisite tales of Gottfried Keller, with their
blending of the humorous and the tragic, of the romantic and the
realistic, declare the energy of Teutonic gen-
ius beyond the bounds of the fatherland.
Keller is the most distinguished novelist in
German literature since Goethe wrote his
(Wilhelm Meister and Kleist his Michael
Kohlhaas. ' His work has the freshness and
vitality, the human charm, which make it
of universal interest. His touch is as firm
and sure as it is tender and sympathetic;
his technique is that of the realist, but his
heart is a poet's. If his writings won their
way slowly, the hold they have at last
obtained upon the public is the firmer. Kel-
GOTTFRIED KELLER ler has taken his place in the front rank
among German writers of fiction in this
century, and his title is secure.
Gottfried Keller was born at Zürich of humble parentage on July
19th, 1815. While he was still a boy, he heard some say, “The great
Goethe is dead ;) and ever afterward that name haunted him. He
describes finding the fifty volumes of Goethe's works tied together
on his bed; he attacked the knot, and “the golden fruit of eighty
years fell asunder. » From that hour he read and re-read Goethe,
discovering new beauties with each perusal. Nevertheless he mistook
his vocation, and expended much fruitless effort in an attempt to
become a landscape painter. Gradually, and only after several years
of unhappy struggling, it became clear to him that his talents
were a poet's, not a painter's; even his sketch-books contained more
writing than drawing. His lyric poems and critical essays attracted
attention; he received a government stipend which enabled him to
study at the University of Heidelberg. In 1850 he went to Berlin, and

tia!
ke
(C
ہوا ہے
$


## p. 8519 (#127) ###########################################

GOTTFRIED KELLER
8519
spent several years in poverty and obscurity. He wished to become
In-
a dramatist, but of his dramatic plans none was ever executed.
stead there appeared a new volume of poems, and in 1854 his first
great novel, Der Grüne Heinrich' (Green Henry). This autobio-
graphic romance had cost him five years of almost reluctant effort;
The
for in it he lays bare the truth and poetry” from his own life.
central theme is practically the same as that of Wilhelm Meister':
it is the story of a young man's mistake in the choice of a profes-
sion; of his misdirected efforts, and his intellectual growth. With
fineness of observation and fullness of poetic fancy Keller has told the
tale of his own artistic and religious development and mental strug-
gle. This novel received a thorough revision in after years, and
was republished in its new form in 1879. The author burned all the
unsold copies of the first edition.
But the work upon which Keller's fame most securely rests is
the collection of tales bearing the title Die Leute von Seldwyla'
(Seldwyla Folk): « The immortal Seldwylars, Paul Heyse called them.
These tales have no other connection with one another than this, that
they all treat of the simple country people who dwell in the imagi-
nary but typically Swiss village of Seldwyla. So faithfully realistic is
the delineation of Swiss character that many of Keller's countrymen
remonstrated against this frank exposure of their national foibles; but
this realism is realism with a soul, and over all these delightful
pages plays the fancy of a true poet, with his genial humor and
loving insight into the human heart. No short story in German lit-
erature surpasses in beauty, pathos, and tragic significance the famous
tale of Romeo and Juliet of the Village. In it are reproduced in
humble bucolic surroundings the conditions which brought about the
tragedy in Verona. Two peasants are rival claimants for a strip of
land; one has a son, the other a daughter: these love each other,
are united; but, conscious of the hopelessness of their situation, they
go to death together.
In 'The Smith of his Own Fortunes' satiri-
cal humor prevails, but not without sympathy and an ultimate human
reconciliation.
But few of these tales have been done into English,
and yet they are among the most finished and delicate bits of short-
story telling in modern literature.
With the appearance of these volumes Keller's fame became es-
tablished; and when in after years he returned to Zürich he was at
least “a writer,” he said, “even though an insignificant one. ” In 1861
he received the post of secretary for the Canton Zürich, and for
fifteen years faithfully performed the duties of his office. The posi-
no sinecure, and left him little leisure for literary work.
Nevertheless he had written a few tales and poems, and after his
retirement from office he devoted himself diligently to literature.
tion was
.


## p. 8520 (#128) ###########################################

8520
GOTTFRIED KELLER
time. I
i IT
at best
IT 220
A volume of legends had appeared in 1872; in 1876 came two vol-
umes of Swiss tales, entitled Zürich Stories, and others appeared
in 1881 with the title of "Das Sinngedicht' (The Epigram). His latest
important work was the less satisfactory, satirical novel of Martin
Salander,' published in 1886. It has the qualities of truth and sin-
cerity; but as he said himself, it is deficient in beauty.
Keller was an extremely modest man, and under a bluff exterior
was concealed a shy nature. He was surprised at his own literary
eminence; and when upon the occasion of his seventieth birthday, for
which his distinguished countryman Böcklin designed the medallion,
all Germany did him homage, he was deeply touched, and thought
too much praise had been bestowed upon his "yarns. ” He died in
the fullness of his fame, on July 15th, 1890.
Mare
To
this ma
efforts
auto
nie, a
THE FOUNDING OF A FAMILY
formet
From “The Smith of his Own Fortunes, in (Seldwyla Folk)
Tie.
[John Kabys, having exhausted his meagre patrimony in idle expectation
of a fortune which did not appear, was at last forced to earn his own liveli-
hood, and accordingly opened a barber-shop in his native town. Here one day
he casually learned from a customer that a wealthy old gentleman in Augsburg
had been making inquiries if there were still Kabyses in Seldwyla. Acting
upon this hint, John went to Augsburg, and the scenes of the following extract
took place. The fact that John in his efforts to render his position more
secure subsequently became the father of his uncle's heir, thus supplanting
himself, gives a touch of humorous irony to the title of the tale. ]
Fou
"C®
>
HOME up with me to the hall of knights! ” said Mr. Litumlei.
They went; when the old man had paced solemnly up and
down a few times, he began: “Hear my purpose and my
proposition, my dear grand-nephew! You are the last of your
race; this is a serious fate! But I have one not less serious to
bear! Look upon me: Well, then! I am the first of mine! ”
Proudly he drew himself up; and John looked at him, but
could not discover what it all meant. The other then continued:
«I am the first of mine,' means the same as — I have deter-
mined to found a race as great and glorious as you here see
painted on the walls of this hall! You see, these are not my
ancestors, but the members of an extinct patrician family of this
city. When I came here thirty years ago, this house happened
to be for sale with all its contents and memorials; and I acquired
the whole apparatus at once, as a foundation for the realization
15 SELL
܀
'S


## p. 8521 (#129) ###########################################

GOTTFRIED KELLER
8521
of my favorite idea. For I possessed a large fortune, but no
name, no ancestors; and I don't even know the baptismal name
of my grandfather who married a Kabys. I indemnified myself
at first by explaining the painted ladies and gentlemen here as
my ancestors, and by making some of them Litumleis, others
Kabyses, by means of such tickets as you see: but my family
recollections extended to only six or seven persons; the rest of
this mass of pictures — the result of four centuries — mocked my
efforts. All the more urgently I was thrown upon the future,
upon the necessity of inaugurating a lasting race myself, whose
honored ancestor I am. Long ago I had my portrait painted,
and a genealogical tree as well, at whose root stands my name.
But an ill star obstinately pursues me! I already have my third
wife, and as yet not one of them has presented me with a girl,
to say nothing of a son and heir to the family name. My two
former wives, from whom I procured a divorce, have since out
of malice had several children by other husbands; and my present
wife, whom I have had now seven years, would undoubtedly do
the same if I should let her go.
“Your appearance, dear grand-nephew, has given me the idea
of resorting to an artificial assistance, such as in history was
frequently made use of in dynasties great and small. What do
you say to this ? — You live with us as a son of the house; I
will make you my legal heir! In return, you will perform the
following: You sacrifice externally your own family traditions
(for you are the last of your race anyway); and at my death
i. e. , on your accession as my heir, — you assume my name! I
spread the report privately that you are a natural son of mine,
the fruit of a mad prank in my youth; you adopt this view and
do not contradict it! Later on perhaps a written document about
it might be composed, -a memoir, a little novel, a noteworthy
a
love story in which I cut a fiery though imprudent figure, and
sow misery for which I atone in old age. Finally you bind
yourself to accept from my hand whatever wife I shall choose
for you from among the distinguished daughters of the city, for
the further prosecution of my design. This in all and in detail
is my proposition. ”
During this speech John had turned red and white alternately;
not from shame or fright, but from astonishment and joy at the
fortune that had arrived at last, and at his own wisdom which
had brought it to him. But he by no means allowed himself


## p. 8522 (#130) ###########################################

8522
GOTTFRIED KELLER
paid that I
png op
Katrs soft
croir su
stament
tata othe
elements
to cheris
Fita Sot
abundan
Malter.
surchas
that ?
hinga
a dea
to be disconcerted, but pretended that only with great reluct-
ance could he make up his mind to sacrifice his honored family
name and his legitimate birth. In polite and well-chosen words
he requested twenty-four hours to consider; and then he began
to walk up and down in the beautiful garden, deeply immersed
in thought. The lovely flowers — carnations, roses, gillyflowers,
crown-imperials, lilies, the geranium beds and jasmine bowers,
the myrtle and oleander trees - all ogled him politely and did
him homage as their master.
When he had enjoyed for half an hour the perfume, the sun-
shine, the shade, and the freshness of the fountain, he went with
an earnest mien out into the street, turned the corner and entered
a bakery, where he indulged in three warm patties with two
glasses of fine wine. Then he returned to the garden and again
walked for half an hour, but this time smoking a cigar. He dis-
covered a bed of small tender radishes. He pulled a bunch of
a
them from the ground, cleaned them at the fountain, whose stone
Tritons blinked at him submissively, and betook himself to a cool
brewery, where with his radishes he drank a mug of foaming
beer. He enjoyed a pleasant chat with the burghers, and en-
deavored to transform his native dialect into the softer Suabian,
as in all probability he was going to be a man of eminence among
these people.
He purposely let the noonday hour go by, and was late at
his meal. In order to carry out there a discriminating lack of ap-
petite, he previously ate three Munich white-sausages and drank
a second mug of beer, which tasted still better to him than the
first. Finally, however, he wrinkled his brow and betook himself
with the same to dinner, where he stared at the soup.
Little Litumlei, who generally became passionate and willful at
unexpected obstacles, and could not bear contradiction, already felt
wrathful anxiety lest his last hope of founding a family should
turn to water, and he regarded his incorruptible guest with dis-
trustful glances. At last he could no longer bear the uncertainty
as to whether he should be an ancestor or not, and he requested
his scrupulous relative to shorten those twenty-four hours and
come to a conclusion at once. For he feared lest his nephew's
austere virtue should increase with every hour. He fetched with
his own hand a bottle of very old Rhine wine from the cellar, of
which John had as yet had no suspicion. As the released spirits
of summer wafted their invisible odors over the crystal glasses,
dered
uhan
gold g
more
PSICHT
pink,
12


## p. 8523 (#131) ###########################################

GOTTFRIED KELLER
8523
1
that clinked so musically, and as with every drop of the liquid
gold that passed over his tongue a little flower garden seemed to
spring up under his nose, then was the steadfast heart of John
Kabys softened, and he gave his consent. The notary public was
quickly summoned, and over some excellent coffee a last will and
testament was set down in due legal form. In conclusion the
artificial-natural son and the race-founding arch-father embraced
each other, but it was not like a warm embrace of flesh and
blood, but far more solemn, like the collision rather of two great
elements whose orbits meet.
So John sat in fortune's lap.
He now had nothing to do but
to cherish the consciousness of his agreeable destiny, to behave
with some consideration towards his father, and to spend an
abundance of pocket-money in whatever way best suited him.
All this was carried out in the most respectable, unassuming
manner, and he dressed like a nobleman. He did not need to
purchase any more valuables: his genius now revealed itself, in
that what he procured years ago still amply sufficed, thus resem-
bling an accurately constructed design which was now completed
in detail by the fullness of fortune. The battle of Waterloo thun-
dered and lightened on his contented breast; chains and dangling
ornaments were rocked upon a well-filled stomach; through the
gold glasses looked a pair of pleased proud eyes; the cane adorned
more than it supported a man that was cautious; and the cigar-
case was filled with good weeds which he smoked appreciatively
in his Mazeppa holder. The wild horse was already of a brilliant
brown hue, while the Mazeppa upon it was just turning a light
pink, almost flesh-color; so that the twofold work of art, the
carver's and the smoker's, excited the just admiration of con-
noisseurs. Papa Litumlei, too, was greatly taken with it, and
diligently set about learning to color meerschaums under the
instruction of his foster-son. A whole collection of such pipes
was purchased; but the old man was too restless and impatient
for this noble art. The young man had to help him continually
and make improvements, which again inspired the former with
respect and confidence.
Soon, however, the two men found a still more important
employment; for papa now insisted that they should make up
together and bring to paper that novel through which John was
to be promoted to a natural-sonship. It was to be a secret
family document in the form of fragmentary memoirs. To avoid
.
.


## p. 8524 (#132) ###########################################

8524
GOTTFRIED KELLER
a bestel.
zap had
hemo
Cres and
adition
with food
So the res
carious to
Tuater sh
2 00
sowe
Thole c
more a
the pe
seized
arousing the jealousy of Mrs. Litumlei and disquieting her, it
had to be composed in secret session; and was to be shut up
surreptitiously in the family archives which still remained to be
founded, in order that in future times, when the family should be
in full bloom, it might see the light and tell the story of the
blood of the Litumleis.
John had already made up his mind, upon the death of the
old man, to call himself not plain Litumlei but Kabys-de-Litumlei;
for he had an excusable weakness for his own name, which he
had wrought so neatly. It was furthermore his intention on that
occasion summarily to burn the document they were about to
create, through which he was to lose his legitimacy of birth and
receive a dissolute mother. For the present however he had to
take his part in the work; and this slightly clouded his serenity.
But he wisely accommodated himself to circumstances, and one
morning shut himself up in a garden room with the old man to
begin the work. There they sat opposite each other at table,
and suddenly discovered that their undertaking was more difficult
than they had thought, inasmuch as neither of them had ever
written a hundred consecutive lines in his life. They positively
could not find a beginning; and the nearer they put their heads
together, the further off was every idea. Finally it occurred to
the son that they really ought first to have a quire of fine stout
paper to establish a substantial document. That was evident;
they started at once to buy it, and wandered in concord through
the city. When they had found what they sought, they advised
each other, as it was a warm day, to go to a tavern, there to
refresh themselves and collect their thoughts. They drank sev-
eral mugs with satisfaction, and ate nuts, bread, sausages; till
suddenly John said he had now devised a beginning for the
story, and would run straight home to write it down, that he
might not forget it. “Run quickly, then," said the old man; in
the mean time I will stay here and make up the continuation;
I feel that it is on the way to me already! ”
So John hastened back to the room with the quire of paper,
and wrote:-
"It was in the year 174, when it was a prosperous year.
A pitcher of wine cost 7 florins, a pitcher of cider 4 florin, and
a measure of cherry brandy 4 batz, a two-pound loaf of white
bread 1 batz, i ditto rye bread batz, and a sack of potatoes 8
batz. The hay too had turned out well, and oats were two florins
Tithot
stand
ke
Tere
te!
this
Ice
a


## p. 8525 (#133) ###########################################

GOTTFRIED KELLER
8525
young seed.
a bushel. The peas and beans turned out well too, and flax and
hemp had not turned out well; on the other hand again, the
olives and tallow or suet had: so that all in all, the remarkable
condition of things came about that society was well supplied
with food and drink, scantily clad, and then again well lighted.
So the year came summarily to a close, and every one was justly
curious to experience how the new year would come in. The
winter showed itself a proper regular winter, cold and clear; a
warm covering of snow lay upon the fields and protected the
But nevertheless a singular thing took place at last.
It snowed, thawed, and froze again during the month of January,
in so frequent alternation that not only did many people fall sick,
but also there came to be such a multitude of icicles that the
whole country looked like a huge glass magazine, and every one
wore a small board on the head in order not to be pricked by
the points of the falling icicles. For the rest, the prices of
staples still remained firm, as above remarked, and fuctuated at
last towards a remarkable spring. ”
At this point the little old man came eagerly running in,
seized the sheet, and without reading what had been written and
without saying a word, he wrote straight on:-
« Then he came, and was called Adam Litumlei. He wouldn't
stand a joke, and was born anno 174.
He came rushing along
like a spring storm. He was one of Those.
He wore
a red
velvet coat, with a feather in his hat, and a sword.
He wore a
gold-embroidered waistcoat, with the motto “Youth hath no vir-
tue! ) He wore golden spurs and rode upon a white charger;
this he stabled at the best inn, and cried, 'What the devil do
I care ? for it is spring, and youth must sow its wild oats! !
He paid cash for everything, and every one marveled at him.
He drank the wine, he ate the roast; he said, “All this amounts
to nothing! ' Further he said, “Come, my lovely darling, thou art
more to me than wine and roasts, than silver and gold! What
do I care? Think what thou wilt, what must be must be ! » »
Here he suddenly came to a standstill and positively could get
no further. They read together what had been written, found it
was not bad, and spent eight days pulling themselves together
again, — during which time they led a dissipated life, for they
went frequently to the beer-house in order to get a new start;
but fortune did not smile every day. Finally John caught another
thread, ran home, and continued:-


## p. 8526 (#134) ###########################################

8526
GOTTFRIED KELLER
minutes,
bue. He
HA.
pes
moete
I don't
so high
« These words the young Mr. Litumlei addressed to a certain
Liselein Federspiel, who lived in a remote quarter of the city,
where the gardens are, and just beyond is a little wood or grove.
She was
one of the most charming beauties the city had ever
produced, with blue eyes and small feet. Her figure was so fine
that she didn't need a corset; and out of the money thus saved,
for she was poor, she was enabled little by little to buy a violet-
colored silk gown.
But all this was enhanced by a general sad-
ness that trembled not only over her lovely features but over
the whole harmony of Miss Federspiel's form, so that whenever
the wind was still you might believe you heard the mournful
tones of an Æolian harp. A very memorable May month had
come, into which all four seasons seemed to be com-
pressed. At first there was snow, so that the nightingales sang
with snowflakes on their heads as if they wore white nightcaps;
then followed such a hot spell that the children went bathing in
the open air and the cherries ripened, and the records have pre-
served a rhyme about it:-
feerding
treatme:
John
now
she sud
the sa
sie ha
OCCUTT
of ing
from
Ice and snowflake,
Boys bathe in the lake,
Cherries ripe and blossoming vine,
All in one May month might be thine. '
oud
ERET
del
LIA
her
1
«These natural phenomena made men meditative and affected
them in different ways.
Miss Liselein Federspiel, who was espe-
cially pensive, speculated about it too, and realized for the first
time that she bore her weal and woe, her virtue and her fall, in
her own hand; and because she now held the scales and weighed
this responsible freedom, was just why she became so sad about
it. Now as she stood there, that audacious red-jacket came along
and said without delay, Federspiel, I love thee! ' whereupon
by a singular accident she suddenly altered her previous line of
thought and broke out into ringing laughter. ”
“Now let me go on,” cried the old man, who came running
up in a great heat and read over the young man's shoulder. “It's
just right for me now! ” and he continued the story as follows:
« « There's nothing to laugh at! ' said he, for I don't take a
joke! In short, it came about as it had to come: on the hill in
the little wood sat my Federspiel on the green sward and kept
on laughing; but the knight had already mounted his white horse
and was flying away into the distance so fast that in a few
第一
​

## p. 8527 (#135) ###########################################

GOTTFRIED KELLER
8527
1
>
>
1
minutes, in the aerial perspective that took place, he appeared
blue. He vanished, returned no more; for he was a devil of a
fellow ! »
“Ha, now it's done! ” shouted Litumlei, as he threw down the
pen; “I've done my part, now bring it to a conclusion.
I am
completely exhausted by these hellish inventions! By the Styx!
I don't wonder that the ancestors of great houses are valued
so highly and are painted life-size, for I know what trouble the
founding of mine costs! But haven't I given the thing bold
treatment ? »
John then proceeded:-
"Poor Miss Federspiel experienced great dissatisfaction when
she suddenly noticed that the seductive youth had vanished at
the same time almost with the remarkable May month. But
she had the presence of mind quickly to declare herself that the
occurrence had not occurred, in order to restore the former con-
dition of equally balanced scales. But she enjoyed this epilogue
of innocence only a short time. The summer came; they began
to reap; it was yellow before one's eyes wherever one looked,
from all the golden bounty; prices sank again materially; Lise-
lein Federspiel stood on the hill and looked at it all; but she
could see nothing for very grief and remorse.
Autumn came;
every wine-stock was a flowing spring; there was an incessant
drumming on the earth from the falling pears and apples; people
drank and sang, bought and sold. Every one supplied himself;
the whole country was a fair; and cheap and abundant as every-
thing was, luxuries were nevertheless prized and cherished and
thankfully accepted. Only the luxury that Liselein brought re-
mained unvalued and not worth asking about, as if the human
hordes that were swimming in superfluity could not find use for
one single little mouth more. She therefore wrapped herself in
her virtue and bore, a month before her time, a lively little boy
whose condition in life was in every way calculated to make him
the smith of his own fortune.
“This son passed so bravely through a very varied career
that by a strange fate he was finally united with his father,
brought up by him in honor, and made his heir; and this is
the second ancestor of the race of Litumlei. ”
Under this document the old man wrote: « Examined and
confirmed, Johann Polycarpus Adam Litumlei. ” And John signed
it likewise. Then Mr. Litumlei put his seal upon it with the


## p. 8528 (#136) ###########################################

8528
GOTTFRIED KELLER
coat-of-arms, consisting of three half fish-hooks golden, in a field
blue, and seven square brook-stilts white and red, on a green bar
sinister.
But they were surprised that the document was no larger;
for they had written scarcely one sheet full of the whole quire.
Nevertheless, they deposited it in the archives, to which purpose
they devoted for the present an old iron chest; and they were
contented and in good spirits.
Translated by Charles Harvey Genung.
imperisha
Kempi
the inale
293 ditë ki, di 21 8 is


## p. 8529 (#137) ###########################################

8529
THOMAS À KEMPIS
.
(1380-1471)
BY JOHN MALONE
N A little nook with a little book. ” Goo old monk of the
peaceful Holland lowlands, how well you knew the best
delight of man! Your own little book” survives to us, an
imperishable witness of the truth and love that lived in your gentle
heart! Next to the Bible, the Imitation of Christ' of Thomas
à Kempis is the book most generally read by Christian people. Of
the making of books, of the love for them, and of the joy a good
book gives to the children of the world, Thomas knew the full glory.
Kempen, rustic village not many miles northwest of Düsseldorf
in Rhenish Prussia, was so named in old time from the fatness of
the country, the campus. The parents of Thomas were very humble
working-people of this place; and the family name of Hämmerken
is attributed to the father's probable position as a worker in metal.
Thomas Hämmerken, sometimes called Haemmerlein, or in Latin
Malleolus, the little hammer," was born to John and Gertrude in
1380, and was carefully schooled in virtue, patience, and poverty under
their low roof-tree; until at the age of thirteen he was, according to
the custom of the time, sent to try his way to a religious life. His
brother John, fifteen years older, had made the name À Kempis a dis-
tinguished one amongst the Brothers of the Common Life,” a house
of Augustinian Canons Regular at Deventer in Overyssel, lower Neth-
erlands. The chivalry of the lowly in those ages of faith expressed
.
itself with gracious hospitality to all “poor scholars”; and we may
be sure the boy who walked the long road down to the brink of
the Zuyder Zee met no stint of God-speeds from the country folk.
But brother John had gone from Deventer to join Gerard Groot at
Windesheim, so away trudged the sturdy little wayfarer to the new
journey's end. Fondly welcomed there, he took a letter from John to
Florentius at Deventer. Under the wise direction of this great man
the little À Kempis entered the public school, then under the rector-
ship of John Boheme. While studying there the usual course of read-
ing, writing, music, Latin, catechism, and Bible history, Thomas lived
at the house of a pious lady, Zedera, widow of a knight, John of
Runen.
From about 1393-4 Thomas continued in the work of ordinary
school life under the care of Florentius, who was the most dear
»
XV-534


## p. 8530 (#138) ###########################################

8530
THOMAS À KEMPIS
ad been ele
wire aid in
is actos
Pesand.
4,2 br Pu
Kempis dit
ad conies
L 1431
(
miks, 127
TERS a
The bi
Gregor
ak of Pi
Tas Tas
stored
magine
the gitt
friend and associate of brother John. In the mean time John à Kem-
pis had been made the first prior of the new convent or monastery
of Mount St. Agnes near Zwolle, the famous Agnetenberg, to be
forever so for the life work of the rosy-cheeked schoolboy of Deven-
ter. Zutphen, the death place of Sir Philip Sidney, is near by the
schoolhouse of À Kempis. Thomas went to his brother at Mount
St. Agnes in 1399, and entered upon preparation for the life of a
monk of that house and rule. In addition to their priestly teaching
and monastic duties, the Brothers of the Common Life) were famous
bookmakers. The beautiful manuscripts which with such devout
care and worshipful art they slowly perfected with pen and brush, in
the clean and wholesome scriptorium, are gems of wonderful delight
in the great treasure-houses of such priceless things to us and ages
of men. John à Kempis was a worthy master of his brother. They
brought with them from the little smithy in Kempen a good endow-
ment of hand cunning. The prior was a fine miniature-maker, as
well as
an expert in the work of producing the perfectly written
books for which the monastery was growing well renowned. Thomas
soon became, and remained to the end of his life in spite of age, an
expert calligrapher. He was invested with the habit of the order
and admitted to the priesthood at the age of thirty-four, in 1414.
They did not do things in a hurry, those foregoers of our father
Knickerbocker. Thomas began to write his first missal in the year
after his ordination, and is said to have finished it in 1417. The first
missal! What years of slow and patient practice upon lesser works
there must have been ! Ripe in mind and full of holy thought,
Thomas, it is believed, began the Imitation either just before or
soon after his entry into the priesthood. The execution of this mar-
velous booklet,” as it was called by its first readers, engaged about
ten years.
It was produced as a series of instructive meditations,
given out from time to time to the brothers of the order. For
that reason its four books are divided, yet dependent upon each
other. At this time, and probably while engaged upon the Imita-
tion,' he wrote the Little Alphabet of the Monk in the School of
Christ) after Psalm cxix. This curious and somewhat droll work is
sometimes called the (Saint's Alphabet. '
The quiet of the teachers and book-writers at Agnetenberg was
rudely broken by an angry quarrel between the people of Overyssel
and the hierarchy. The country was laid under an interdict for
refusing to accept Zweder de Colenborgh as bishop appointed to the
see of Utrecht by Pope Martin V. This dire trouble, which began in
1425, culminated in 1429 by the closing of the churches in the banned
district. The monastery of St. Agnes, for obeying the order to
withdraw its religious ministrations from the people, was obliged to
take its people out of the disturbed and enraged province. Thomas
from to
graphe
at Bras
teks
La
within
lect
tien
a


## p. 8531 (#139) ###########################################

THOMAS À KEMPIS
8531
an
had been elected sub-prior just before this event and he was
active aid in the guidance, on St. Barnabas's day 1429, of the unhoused
monks across the Zuyder Zee to the brother house of Lunenkirk in
Friesland. Here the brothers lived until the interdict was raised in
1432 by Pope Eugenius IV. It was during this exile that John à
Kempis died. He had gone from the Agnetenberg to become rector
and confessor of the convent of Bethany near Arnheim, and being
ill in 1431 Thomas went to him. The two were together for fourteen
months, until November 4th, 1432, when the loving elder brother
went a little before through the gateway of Death.
The bitter schism which had tormented the Church since the death
of Gregory XI. in 1378, which had survived in rancor the great Coun-
cils of Pisa and of Constance, and the horror of the long Bohemian
war, was for a time thought to be ended by the same tribunal which
restored the monks of St. Agnes to their own house. One may easily
imagine therefore that their home-coming was a special occasion of
joy; a joy unfortunately not to last. That exemplary evidence against
the pretenders who have taken occasion from his humility to filch
from the monk of St. Agnes the merit of his best work, the 1441 auto-
graph manuscript of the Imitation, now in the Burgundian Library
at Brussels, may well have been begun by Thomas as an offering of
thanksgiving for the restored peace of God.
In 1447 the brothers made Thomas their sub-prior for the second
time. From the return to Mount St. Agnes until his death in 1471,
within the last decade of a century of well-spent life, the days of
À Kempis were without event beyond the routine of his teaching,
writing, and priestly toil. Like all the brothers he worked to the
last moment of physical endurance, and it is said of him that so per-
fect were his physical faculties that he never needed spectacles for
even the most delicate pen tracing.
A portrait is extant which represents him dressed in the habit of
the Augustinians, and seated upon a rocky ledge amidst the quiet of
a Dutch landscape. An open book is in his hand, another at his
feet, with the words in the country's speech, «In een hoecken mit
een boecken. ” This painting, now known as the Gertruidenberg por-
trait, was found in the abbey of St. Agnes by Franz von Tholen,
about one hundred years after the death of À Kempis. It represents
a stout, large-browed man of medium size, of Flemish features, with
lustrous, far-away-looking, kindly eyes.
Of his death Adrian de But, in his chronicle, says under the year
1471:-
(
"In this year died Brother Thomas à Kempis of Mount St. Agnes, a
professor of the Order of Canons Regular, who published many writings, and
composed in rhythm that book on the text (Who followeth Me. ) »


## p. 8532 (#140) ###########################################

8532
THOMAS À KEMPIS
na 'The
The controversy about the authorship of the Imitation is like
that about the works of Shakespeare. Its primary cause is the un-
assuming greatness of the writer, and his honesty to his rule of life.
The fuel upon which it feeds is the incapacity of little-minded men
to think of any world beyond the horizon which corrals the human
herd. Volumes have been written in this curious phase of vicarious
plagiarism; but the plain tale of contemporary testimony, and the
undoubted autographs of À Kempis himself, put them outside the
bars of evidence.
The language of À Kempis is the Latin of his day, an interesting
witness in the growth of modern tongues. It is not classical, but
smacks strongly of the land and of the people. The knowledge of
the Latin speech was far more common in the fourteenth, fifteenth,
and sixteenth centuries than is generally supposed. All people not
utterly ignorant had a speaking knowledge of it, and filled the cur-
rent of conversation with crude translations of their common saws.
À Kempis is full of the vigor of this growth of new speech. It must
have seemed strange to the stickler for classic latinity at the court
of Elizabeth to hear Launcelot Gobbo quoting from the Imitation':
“Laun. — The old proverb is very well parted between my master
Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of God, sir, and he hath
enough. ” — Merchant of Venice,' Act ii. , scene 2.
All good books paid their tribute to the mind of À Kempis. His
favorites were, first of course the Scriptures, then St. Bernard, St.
Gregory the Great, St. Ambrose, and St. Thomas. Aristotle, Ovid,
Seneca, and Dante furnished him from time to time with apt illustra-
tions of his thought. A recent writer has well summed up in one
happy phrase the sense of Brother Thomas's methods and purpose,
by the name “A minnesinger of the love of God. ” The miscalled
mysticism of Thomas is the poesy of a love which disdains all lesser
objects and fixes itself to the person of God himself. There is no
abstruse life problem in such a bent of soul. The aspiration towards
the True, the Beautiful, and the Good, which well sung wins the
poet's bay wreath, stays not the willingness of men's ears.
The smaller works of À Kempis are -The Soliloquy of the Soul,'
(Solitude and Silence,' 'The Little Garden of Roses,' 'The Valley
of Lilies,' and a number of similar essays. He wrote also some
sweet church hymns, and three books of the Lives of the Canons)
and the Chronicle of St. Agnes. The first edition of his works was
published at Nuremberg by George Pirkheimer, in 1494.
(
Jacallelone


## p. 8533 (#141) ###########################################

THOMAS Å KEMPIS
8533
ON THE JOYS OF HEAVEN
From “The Voice of Christian Life in Song: or, Hymns and Hymn-Writers
of Many Lands and Ages)
H
Igh the angel choirs are raising
Heart and voice in harmony;
The Creator King still praising,
Whom in beauty there they see.
Sweetest strains, from soft harps stealing;
Trumpets, notes of triumph pealing;
Radiant wings and white stoles gleaming,
Up the steps of glory streaming;
Where the heavenly bells are ringing,
Holy, holy, holy!