No More Learning

You would laugh if you heard me mention
the sum which has sufficed for my expenditure during a long
summer month; for the pedestrian, humble though he be, has
his own especial privileges, and not the least of these is that he
is exempted from all extortion. Donald-God bless him. -- has
a knack of putting on the prices; and when an English family
comes posting up to the door of his inn, clamorously demanding
every sort of accommodation which a metropolitan hotel could
afford, grumbling at the lack of attendance, sneering at the
quality of the food, and turning the whole establishment upside
down for their own selfish gratification, he not unreasonably
determines that the extra trouble shall be paid for in that gold
which rarely crosses his fingers except during the short season
when tourists and sportsmen abound. But Donald, who is de-
scended from the M'Gregor, does not make spoil of the poor.
The sketcher or the angler who come to his door, with the sweat
upon their brow and the dust of the highway or the pollen of the
heather on their feet, meet with a hearty welcome; and though
the room in which their meals are served is but low in the roof,
and the floor strewn with sand, and the attic wherein they lie is
garnished with two beds and a shake-down, yet are the viands.
wholesome, the sheets clean, and the tariff so undeniably mod-
erate that even parsimony cannot complain. So up in the
morning early, so soon as the first beams of the sun slant into
the chamber-down to the loch or river, and with a headlong
plunge scrape acquaintance with the pebbles at the bottom; then
rising with a hearty gasp, strike out for the islet or the further
bank, to the astonishment of the otter, who, thief that he is, is
skulking back to his hole below the old saugh-tree, from a mid-
night foray up the burns. Huzza! The mallard, dozing among
the reeds, has taken fright, and tucking up his legs under his
round fat rump, flies quacking to a remoter marsh.


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MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1129
"By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes,"
and lo! Dugald the keeper, on his way to the hill, is arrested
by the aquatic phenomenon, and half believes that he is witness-
ing the frolics of an Urisk! Then make your toilet on the green-
sward, swing your knapsack over your shoulders, and cover ten
good miles of road before you halt before breakfast with more
than the appetite of an ogre.
In this way I made the circuit of well-nigh the whole of the
Scottish Highlands, penetrating as far as Cape Wrath and the
wild district of Edderachylis, nor leaving unvisited the grand
scenery of Loch Corruisk, and the stormy peaks of Skye; and
more than one delightful week did I spend each summer, explor-
ing Gameshope, or the Linns of Talla, where the Covenanters
of old held their gathering; or clambering up the steep ascent
by the Grey Mare's Tail to lonely and lovely Loch Skene, or
casting for trout in the silver waters of St. Mary's.
MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
(1798-1866)
M
ASSIMO TAPARELLI, Marquis d'Azeglio, like his greater col-
league and sometime rival in the Sardinian Ministry,
Cavour, wielded a graceful and forcible pen, and might
have won no slight distinction in the peaceful paths of literature and
art as well, had he not been before everything else a patriot. Of
ancient and noble Piedmontese stock, he was born at Turin in Octo-
ber, 1798. In his fifteenth year the youth accompanied his father to
Rome, where the latter had been appointed ambassador, and thus
early he was inspired with the passion for painting and music which
never left him. In accordance with the paternal wish he entered on
a military career, but soon abandoned the service to devote himself
to art. But after a residence of eight years (1821-29) in the papal
capital, having acquired both skill and fame as a landscape painter,
D'Azeglio began to direct his thoughts to letters and politics.
After the death of his father in 1830 he settled in Milan, where
he formed the acquaintance of the poet and novelist Alessandro Man-
zoni, whose daughter he married, and under whose influence he
became deeply interested in literature, especially in its relation to
the political events of those stirring times. The agitation against
Austrian domination was especially marked in the north of Italy,


## p. 1130 (#556) ###########################################

1130
MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
where Manzoni had made himself prominent; and so it came to pass
that Massimo d'Azeglio plunged into literature with the ardent hope
of stimulating the national sense of independence and unity.
In 1833 he published, not without misgivings, Ettore Fiera-
mosca,' his first romance, in which he aimed to teach Italians how
to fight for national honor. The work achieved an immediate and
splendid success, and unquestionably served as a powerful aid to the
awakening of Italy's ancient patriotism. It was followed in 1841 by
'Nicolo de' Lapi,' a story conceived in similar vein, with somewhat
greater pretensions to literary finish. D'Azeglio now became known
as one of the foremost representatives of the moderate party, and
exerted the potent influence of his voice as well as of his pen in dif-
fusing liberal propaganda. In 1846 he published the bold pamphlet
'Gli ultimi Casi di Romagna' (On the Recent Events in Romagna),
in which he showed the danger and utter futility of ill-advised
republican outbreaks, and the paramount necessity of adopting there-
after a wiser and more practical policy to gain the great end desired.
Numerous trenchant political articles issued from his pen during the
next two years. The year 1849 found him a member of the first
Sardinian parliament, and in March of that year Victor Emmanuel
called him to the presidency of the Council with the portfolio of
Foreign Affairs. Obliged to give way three years later before the
rising genius of Cavour, he served his country with distinction on
several important diplomatic missions after the peace of Villafranca,
and died in his native city on the 15th of January, 1866.
In 1867 appeared D'Azeglio's autobiography, 'I Miei Ricordi,'
translated into English by Count Maffei under title of 'My Recol-
lections, which is undeniably the most interesting and thoroughly
delightful product of his pen. "He was a character,'»
(
said an
English critic at the time: "a man of whims and oddities, of hobbies
and crotchets. . . . This character of individuality, which impressed
its stamp on his whole life, is charmingly revealed in every sentence
of the memoirs which he has left behind him; so that, more than
any of his previous writings, their mingled homeliness and wit and
wisdom justify the epithet which I once before ventured to give
him when I described him as 'the Giusti of Italian prose. > >>
As a
polemic writer D'Azeglio was recognized as one of the chief forces
in molding public opinion. If he had not been both patriot and
statesman, this versatile genius, as before intimated, would not
improbably have gained an enviable reputation in the realm of art;
and although his few novels are-perhaps with justice-no longer
remembered, they deeply stirred the hearts of his countrymen in
their day, and to say the least are characterized by good sense,
facility of execution, and a refined imaginative power.


## p. 1131 (#557) ###########################################

MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1131
A HAPPY CHILDHOOD
From My Recollections >
THE
HE distribution of our daily occupations was strictly laid down
for Matilde and me in black and white, and these rules
were not to be broken with impunity. We were thus
accustomed to habits of order, and never to make anybody wait
for our convenience; a fault which is one of the most trouble-
some that can be committed either by great people or small.
I remember one day that Matilde, having gone out with
Teresa, came home when we had been at dinner some time. It
was winter, and snow was falling. The two culprits sat down a
little confused, and their soup was brought them in two plates,
which had been kept hot; but can you guess where? On the
balcony; so that the contents were not only below freezing-point,
but actually had a thick covering of snow!
At dinner, of course my sister and I sat perfectly silent, wait-
ing our turn, without right of petition or remonstrance. As to
the other proprieties of behavior, such as neatness, and not being
noisy or boisterous, we knew well that the slightest infraction
would have entailed banishment for the rest of the day at least.
Our great anxiety was to eclipse ourselves as much as possible;
and I assure you that under this system we never fancied our-
selves the central points of importance round which all the rest
of the world was to revolve, an idea which, thanks to absurd
indulgence and flattery, is often forcibly thrust, I may say, into
poor little brains, which if left to themselves would never have
lost their natural simplicity.
The lessons of 'Galateo' were not enforced at dinner only.
Even at other times we were forbidden to raise our voices or
interrupt the conversation of our elders, still more to quarrel
with each other. If sometimes as we went to dinner I rushed
forward before Matilde, my father would take me by the arm
and make me come last, saying, "There is no need to be uncivil
because she is your sister. " The old generation in many parts
of Italy have the habit of shouting and raising their voices as if
their interlocutor were deaf, interrupting him as if he had no
right to speak, and poking him in the ribs and otherwise, as if
he could only be convinced by sensations of bodily pain. The
regulations observed in my family were therefore by no means


## p. 1132 (#558) ###########################################

MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1132
superfluous; and would to Heaven they were universally adopted
as the law of the land!
On another occasion my excellent mother gave me a lesson of
humility, which I shall never forget any more than the place
where I received it.
In the open part of the Cascine, which was once used as a
race-course, to the right of the space where the carriages stand,
there is a walk alongside the wood. I was walking there one
day with my mother, followed by an old servant, a countryman
of Pylades; less heroic than the latter, but a very good fellow
too. I forget why, but I raised a little cane I had in my hand,
and I am afraid I struck him. My mother, before all the pass-
ers-by, obliged me to kneel down and beg his pardon.
I can
still see poor Giacolin taking off his hat with a face of utter
bewilderment, quite unable to comprehend how it was that the
Chevalier Massimo Taparelli d'Azeglio came to be at his feet.
An indifference to bodily pain was another of the precepts
most carefully instilled by our father; and as usual, the lesson
was made more impressive by example whenever an opportunity
presented itself. If, for instance, we complained of any slight
pain or accident, our father used to say, half in fun, half in
earnest, "When a Piedmontese has both his arms and legs
broken, and has received two sword-thrusts in the body, he may
be allowed to say, but not till then, 'Really, I almost think I am
not quite well. '»
The moral authority he had acquired over me was so great
that in no case would I have disobeyed him, even had he ordered
me to jump out of window.
I recollect that when my first tooth was drawn, I was in an
agony of fright as we went to the dentist; but outwardly I was
brave enough, and tried to seem as indifferent as possible. On
another occasion my childish courage and also my father's firm-
ness were put to a more serious test. He had hired a house
called the Villa Billi, which stands about half a mile from San
Domenico di Fiesole, on the right winding up toward the hill.
Only two years ago I visited the place, and found the same
family of peasants still there, and my two old playmates, Nando
and Sandro, who had both become even greater fogies than
myself, and we had a hearty chat together about bygone times.
Whilst living at this villa, our father was accustomed to
take us out for long walks, which were the subject of special
-


## p. 1133 (#559) ###########################################

MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1133
regulations. We were strictly forbidden to ask, "Have we far
to go? " "What time is it? " or to say, "I am thirsty; I am
hungry; I am tired:" but in everything else we had full liberty.
of speech and action. Returning from one of these excursions,
we one day found ourselves below Castel di Poggio, a rugged
stony path leading towards Vincigliata. In one hand I had a
nosegay of wild flowers, gathered by the way, and in the other
a stick, when I happened to stumble, and fell awkwardly. My
father sprang forward to pick me up, and seeing that one arm
pained me, he examined it and found that in fact the bone was
broken below the elbow. All this time my eyes were fixed upon
him, and I could see his countenance change, and assume such
an expression of tenderness and anxiety that he no longer ap-
peared to be the same man. He bound up my arm as well as
he could, and we then continued our way homewards.
After a
few moments, during which my father had resumed his usual
calmness, he said to me:
――
―
"Listen, Mammolino: your mother is not well. If she knows
you are hurt it will make her worse. You must be brave, my
boy: to-morrow morning we will go to Florence, where all that
is needful can be done for you; but this evening you must not
show you are in pair. Do you understand ? »
All this was said with his usual firmness and authority, but
also with the greatest affection. I was only too glad to have so
important and difficult a task intrusted to me. The whole even-
ing sat quietly in a corner, supporting my poor little broken
arm as best I could, and my mother only thought me tired by
the long walk, and had no suspicion of the truth.
The next day I was taken to Florence, and my arm was set;
but to complete the cure I had to be sent to the Baths of Vina-
dio a few years afterward. Some people may, in this instance,
think my father was cruel. I remember the fact as if it were
but yesterday, and I am sure such an idea never for one minute
entered my mind. The expression of ineffable tenderness which
I had read in his eyes had so delighted me, it seemed so reason-
able to avoid alarming my mother, that I looked on the hard
task allotted me as a fine opportunity of displaying my courage.
I did so because I had not been spoilt, and good principles had
been early implanted within me: and now that I am an old man
and have known the world, I bless the severity of my father;
and I could wish every Italian child might have one like him,


## p. 1134 (#560) ###########################################

1134
MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
and derive more profit than I did,—in thirty years' time Italy
would then be the first of nations.
Moreover, it is a fact that children are much more observant
than is commonly supposed, and never regard as hostile a just
but affectionate severity. I have always seen them disposed to
prefer persons who keep them in order to those who constantly
yield to their caprices; and soldiers are just the same in this
respect.
The following is another example to prove that my father did
not deserve to be called cruel:-
He thought it a bad practice to awaken children suddenly, or
to let their sleep be abruptly disturbed. If we had to rise early
for a journey, he would come to my bedside and softly hum a
popular song, two lines of which still ring in my ears:
"Chi vuol veder l'aurora
Lasci le molli piume. "
(He who the early dawn would view
Downy pillows must eschew. )
And by gradually raising his voice, he awoke me without the
slightest start. In truth, with all his severity, Heaven knows
how I loved him.
THE PRIESTHOOD
From My Recollections >
Μ'
Y OCCUPATIONS in Rome were not entirely confined to the
domains of poetry and imagination. It must not be for-
gotten that I was also a diplomatist; and in that capacity
I had social as well as official duties to perform.
The Holy Alliance had accepted the confession and repentance
of Murat, and had granted him absolution; but as the new con-
vert inspired little confidence, he was closely watched, in the
expectation — and perhaps the hope-of an opportunity of crown-
ing the work by the infliction of penance.
-
The penance intended was to deprive him of his crown and
sceptre, and to turn him out of the pale. Like all the other
diplomatists resident in Rome, we kept our court well informed
of all that could be known or surmised regarding the intentions
of the Neapolitan government; and I had the lively occupation of
copying page after page of incomprehensible cipher for the new-


## p. 1135 (#561) ###########################################

MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1135
born archives of our legation.
Such was my life at that time;
and in spite of the cipher, I soon found it pleasant enough.
Dinner-parties, balls, routs, and fashionable society did not then
inspire me with the holy horror which now keeps me away from
them. Having never before experienced or enjoyed anything of
the kind, I was satisfied. But in the midst of my pleasure, our
successor Marquis San Saturnino-made his appearance, and
we had to prepare for our departure. One consolation, however,
remained. I had just then been appointed to the high rank of
cornet in the crack dragoon regiment "Royal Piedmont. " I had
never seen its uniform, but I cherished a vague hope of being
destined by Fortune to wear a helmet; and the prospect of real-
izing this splendid dream of my infancy prevented me from
regretting my Roman acquaintances overmuch.
The Society of Jesus had meanwhile been restored, and my
brother was on the eve of taking the vows. He availed himself
of the last days left him before that ceremony to sit for his
portrait to the painter Landi. This is one of that artist's best
works, who, poor man, cannot boast of many; and it now belongs
to my nephew Emanuel.
-
The day of the ceremony at length arrived, and I accom-
panied my brother to the Convent of Monte Cavallo, where it
was to take place.
The Jesuits at that time were all greatly rejoicing at the
revival of their order; and as may be inferred, they were mostly
old men, with only a few young novices among them.
We entered an oratory fragrant with the flowers adorning
the altar, full of silver ornaments, holy images, and burning
wax-lights, with half-closed windows and carefully drawn blinds;
for it is a certain, although unexplained, fact that men are more
devout in the dark than in the light, at night than in the day-
time, and with their eyes closed rather than open.
We were
received by the General of the order, Father Panizzoni, a little
old man bent double with age, his eyes encircled with red, half
blind, and I believe almost in his dotage. He was shedding tears
of joy, and we all maintained the pious and serious aspect suited
to the occasion, until the time arrived for the novice to step for-
ward, when, lo! Father Panizzoni advanced with open arms
toward the place where I stood, mistaking me for my brother;
a blunder which for a moment imperiled the solemnity of the
assembly.


## p. 1136 (#562) ###########################################

1136
MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
Had I yielded to the embrace of Father Panizzoni, it would
have been a wonderful bargain both for him and me. But this
was not the only invitation I then received to enter upon a sacer-
dotal career. Monsignor Morozzo, my great-uncle and god-father,
then secretary to the bishops and regular monks, one day pro-
posed that I should enter the Ecclesiastical Academy, and follow
the career of the prelacy under his patronage. The idea seemed
so absurd that I could not help laughing heartily, and the sub-
ject was never revived.
Had I accepted these overtures, I might in the lapse of time
have long since been a cardinal, and perhaps even Pope. And
if so, I should have drawn the world after me, as the shepherd
entices a lamb with a lump of salt. It was very wrong in me to
refuse. Doubtless the habit of expressing my opinion to every
one, and on all occasions, would have led me into many difficult-
ies. I must either have greatly changed, or a very few years
would have seen an end of me.
We left Rome at last, in the middle of winter, in an open
carriage, and traveling chiefly by night, as was my father's habit.
While the horses are trotting on, I will sum up the impressions
of Rome and the Roman world which I was carrying away. The
clearest idea present to my mind was that the priests of Rome
and their religion had very little in common with my father and
Don Andreis, or with the religion professed by them and by the
priests and the devout laity of Turin. I had not been able to
detect the slightest trace of that which in the language of asceti-
cism is called unction. I know not why, but that grave and
downcast aspect, enlivened only by a few occasional flashes of
ponderous clerical wit, the atmosphere depressing as the plumbeus
auster of Horace, in which I had been brought up under the rule
of my priest,- all seemed unknown at Rome. There I never
met with a monsignore or a priest who did not step out with a
pert and jaunty air, his head erect, showing off a well-made leg,
and daintily attired in the garb of a clerical dandy.
Their con-
versation turned upon every possible subject, and sometimes upon
quibusdam aliis, to such a degree that it was evident my father
was perpetually on thorns. I remember a certain prelate, whom
I will not name, and whose conduct was, I believe, sufficiently
free and easy, who at a dinner-party at a villa near Porta Pia
related laughingly some matrimonial anecdotes, which I at that
time did not fully understand. And I remember also my poor


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MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1137
father's manifest distress, and his strenuous endeavors to change
the conversation and direct it into a different channel.
The prelates and priests whom I used to meet in less orthodox
companies than those frequented by my father seemed to me still
more free and easy. Either in the present or in the past, in
theory or in practice, with more or less or even no concealment,
they all alike were sailing or had sailed on the sweet fleuve du
tendre. For instance, I met one old canon bound to a venerable
dame by a tie of many years' standing. I also met a young prel-
ate with a pink-and-white complexion and eyes expressive of
anything but holiness; he was a desperate votary of the fair sex,
and swaggered about paying his homage right and left. Will it
be believed, this gay apostle actually told me, without circum-
locution, that in the monastery of Tor di Specchi there dwelt a
young lady who was in love with me? I, who of course desired
no better, took the hint instantly, and had her pointed out to me.
Then began an interchange of silly messages, of languishing
looks, and a hundred absurdities of the same kind; all cut short
by the pair of post-horses which carried us out of the Porta del
Popolo.
The opinions of my father respecting the clergy and the Court
of Rome were certainly narrow and prejudiced; but with his good
sense it was impossible for him not to perceive what was mani-
fest even to a blind man. During our journey he kept insinuat-
ing (without appearing, however, to attach much importance to
it) that it was always advisable to speak with proper respect of a
country where we had been well received, even if we had noticed
a great many abuses and disorders. To a certain extent, this
counsel was well worthy of attention. He was doubtless much
grieved at the want of decency apparent in one section of that
society, or, to use a modern expression, at its absence of respect-
ability; but he consoled himself by thinking, like Abraham the
Jew in the Decameron,' that no better proof can be given of
the truth of the religion professed by Rome than the fact of its
enduring in such hands.
This reasoning, however, is not quite conclusive; for if Boc-
caccio had had patience to wait another forty years, he would
have learnt, first from John Huss, and then from Luther and his
followers, that although in certain hands things may last a while,
it is only till they are worn out. What Boccaccio and the Jew
would say now if they came back, I do not venture to surmise.
II-72


## p. 1138 (#564) ###########################################

1138
MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
MY FIRST VENTURE IN ROMANCE
From My Recollections >
W
HILE striving to acquire a good artistic position in my new
residence, I had still continued to work at my 'Fiera-
mosca,' which was now almost completed. Letters were
at that time represented at Milan by Manzoni, Grossi, Torti,
Pompeo Litta, etc. The memories of the period of Monti,
Parini, Foscolo, Porta, Pellico, Verri, Beccaria, were still fresh;
and however much the living literary and scientific men might
be inclined to lead a secluded life, intrenched in their own
houses, with the shyness of people who disliked much inter-
course with the world, yet by a little tact those who wished for
their company could overcome their reserve. As Manzoni's son-
in-law, I found myself naturally brought into contact with them.
I knew them all; but Grossi and I became particularly intimate,
and our close and uninterrupted friendship lasted until the day
of his but too premature death. I longed to show my work to
him, and especially to Manzoni, and ask their advice; but fear
this time, not artistic but literary, had again caught hold of me.
Still, a resolve was necessary, and was taken at last. I disclosed
my secret, imploring forbearance and advice, but no indulgence.
I wanted the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
I preferred the blame of a couple of trusted friends to that of
the public. Both seemed to have expected something a great
deal worse than what they heard, to judge by their startled but
also approving countenances, when my novel was read to them.
Manzoni remarked with a smile, "We literary men have a
strange profession indeed- any one can take it up in a day.
Here is Massimo: the whim of writing a novel seizes him, and
upon my word he does not do badly, after all! »
This high approbation inspired me with leonine courage, and
I set to work again in earnest, so that in 1833 the work was
ready for publication. On thinking it over now, it strikes me
that I was guilty of great impertinence in thus bringing out
and publishing with undaunted assurance my little novel among
all those literary big-wigs; I who had never done or written
anything before. But it was successful; and this is an answer
to every objection.


## p. 1139 (#565) ###########################################

MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1139
The day I carried my bundle of manuscript to San Pietro all'
Orto, and, as Berni expresses it, -
-
<< ritrovato
Un che di stampar opere lavora,
Dissi, Stampami questa alla malora! »
(-having
Discovered one, a publisher by trade,
'Print me this book, bad luck to it! ' I said,)
I was in a still greater funk than on the two previous occasions.
But I had yet to experience the worst I ever felt in the whole
course of my life, and that was on the day of publication; when
I went out in the morning, and read my illustrious name pla-
carded in large letters on the street walls! I felt blinded by a
thousand sparks. Now indeed alea jacta erat, and my fleet was
burnt to ashes.
This great fear of the public may, with good-will, be taken
for modesty; but I hold that at bottom it is downright vanity.
Of course I am speaking of people endowed with a sufficient
dose of talent and common-sense; with fools, on the contrary,
vanity takes the shape of impudent self-confidence. Hence all
the daily published amount of nonsense; which would convey a
strange idea of us to Europe, if it were not our good fortune
that Italian is not much understood abroad. As regards our
internal affairs, the two excesses are almost equally noxious.
In Parliament, for instance, the first, those of the timidly vain
genus, might give their opinion a little oftener with general
advantage; while if the others, the impudently vain, were not
always brawling, discussions would be more brief and rational,
and public business better and more quickly dispatched. The
same reflection applies to other branches-to journalism, litera-
ture, society, etc. ; for vanity is the bad weed which chokes up
our political field; and as it is a plant of hardy growth, bloom-
ing among us all the year round, it is just as well to be on our
guard.
Timid vanity was terribly at work within me the day 'Fiera-
mosca' was published. For the first twenty-four hours it was
impossible to learn anything; for even the most zealous require
at least a day to form some idea of a book. Next morning, on
first going out, I encountered a friend of mine, a young fellow
then and now a man of mature age, who has never had a sus-


## p. 1140 (#566) ###########################################

1140
MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
picion of the cruel blow he unconsciously dealt me. I met him
in Piazza San Fedele, where I lived; and after a few words, he
said, "By the by, I hear you have published a novel. Well
done! " and then talked away about something quite different
with the utmost heedlessness. Not a drop of blood was left in
my veins, and I said to myself, "Mercy on me! I am done for:
not even a word is said about my poor 'Fieramosca! >» It
seemed incredible that he, who belonged to a very numerous
family, connected with the best society of the town, should have
heard nothing, if the slightest notice had been taken of it. As
he was besides an excellent fellow and a friend, it seemed
equally incredible that if a word had been said and heard, he
should not have repeated it to me. Therefore, it was a failure;
the worst of failures, that of silence. With a bitter feeling at
heart, I hardly knew where I went; but this feeling soon
changed, and the bitterness was superseded by quite an opposite
sensation.
'Fieramosca' succeeded, and succeeded so well that I felt
abasourdi, as the French express it; indeed, I could say "Je
n'aurais jamais cru être si fort savant. " My success went on in
an increasing ratio: it passed from the papers and from the
masculine half to the feminine half of society; it found its way
to the studios and the stage.
I became the vade-mecum of every
prima-donna and tenor, the hidden treat of school-girls; I pene-
trated between the pillow and the mattress of college, boys, of
the military academy cadet; and my apotheosis reached such a
height that some newspapers asserted it to be Manzoni's work. It
is superfluous to add that only the ignorant could entertain such
an idea; those who were better informed would never have made
such a blunder.
My aim, as I said, was to take the initiative in the slow
work of the regeneration of national character. I had no wish
but to awaken high and noble sentiments in Italian hearts; and
if all the literary men in the world had assembled to condemn
me in virtue of strict rules, I should not have cared a jot, if, in
defiance of all existing rules, I succeeded in inflaming the heart
of one single individual. And I will also add, who can say that
what causes durable emotion is unorthodox? It may be at vari-
ance with some rules and in harmony with others; and those
which move hearts and captivate intellects do not appear to me
to be the worst.


## p. 1141 (#567) ###########################################

1141
.
BABER
(1482-1530)
BY EDWARD S. HOLDEN
HE emperor Baber was sixth in descent from Tamerlane, who
died in 1405.
Tamerlane's conquests were world-wide, but
they never formed a homogeneous empire. Even in his life-
time he parceled them out to sons and grandsons. Half a century
later Trans-oxiana was divided into many independent kingdoms each
governed by a descendant of the great conqueror.
When Baber was born (1482), an uncle was King of Samarkand
and Bokhara; another uncle ruled Badakhshan; another was King
of Kabul. A relative was the powerful King of Khorasan. These
princes were of the family of Tamerlane, as was Baber's father,-
Sultan Omer Sheikh Mirza,-who was the King of Ferghana. Two
of Baber's maternal uncles, descendants of Chengiz Khan, ruled the
Moghul tribes to the west and north of Ferghana; and two of their
sisters had married the Kings of Samarkand and Badakhshan.
third sister was Baber's mother, wife of the King of Ferghana.
The
The capitals of their countries were cities like Samarkand,
Bokhara, and Herat. Tamerlane's grandson-Ulugh Beg-built at
Samarkand the chief astronomical observatory of the world, a cen-
tury and a half before Tycho Brahe (1576) erected Uranibourg in Den-
mark. The town was filled with noble buildings,- mosques, tombs,
and colleges. Its walls were five miles in circumference. *
Its streets were paved (the streets of Paris were not paved till the
time of Henri IV. ), and running water was distributed in pipes. Its
markets overflowed with fruits. Its cooks and bakers were noted for
their skill. Its colleges were full of learned men, poets,† and doctors
of the law. The observatory counted more than a hundred observers
and calculators in its corps of astronomers. The products of China,
of India, and of Persia flowed to the bazaars.
Bokhara has always been the home of learning. Herat was at
that time the most magnificent and refined city of the world. ‡ The
court was splendid, polite, intelligent, and liberal. Poetry, history,
* Paris was walled in 1358; so Froissart tells us.
"In Samarkand, the Odes of Baiesanghar Mirza are so popular, that
there is not a house in which a copy of them may not be found. " — Baber's
'Memoirs. '
Baber spent twenty days in visiting its various palaces, towers, mosques,
gardens, colleges—and gives a list of more than fifty such sights.


## p. 1142 (#568) ###########################################

BABER
1142
philosophy, science, and the arts of painting and music were culti-
vated by noblemen and scholars alike. Baber himself was a poet of
no mean rank. The religion was that of Islam, and the sect the
orthodox Sunni; but the practice was less precise than in Arabia.
Wine was drunk; poetry was prized; artists were encouraged. The
mother-language of Baber was Turki (of which the Turkish of Con-
stantinople is a dialect). Arabic was the language of science and of
theology. Persian was the accepted literary language, though Baber's
verses are in Turki as well.
We possess Baber's 'Memoirs' in the original Turki and in Persian
translations also. In what follows, the extracts will be taken from
Erskine's translation,* which preserves their direct and manly charm.
To understand them, the foregoing slight introduction is necessary.
A connected sketch of Baber's life and a brief history of his conquests
can be found in 'The Mogul Emperors of Hindustan. ’†
We are
here more especially concerned with his literary work. To compre-
hend it, something of his history and surroundings must be known.
FROM BABER'S MEMOIRS›
IN
THE month of Ramzan, in the year 899 [A. D. 1494], and
in the twelfth year of my age, I became King of Ferghana.
The country of Ferghana is situated in the fifth climate, on
the extreme boundary of the habitable world. On the east it
has Kashgar; on the west, Samarkand; on the south, the hill
country; on the north, in former times there were cities, yet
at the present time, in consequence of the incursions of the
Usbeks, no population remains. Ferghana is a country of small
extent, abounding in grain and fruits. The revenues may suffice,
without oppressing the country, to maintain three or four thou-
sand troops.
My father, Omer Sheikh Mirza, was of low stature, had a
short, bushy beard, brownish hair, and was very corpulent. As
for his opinions and habits, he was of the sect of Hanifah, and
strict in his belief. He never neglected the five regular and
stated prayers. He read elegantly, and he was particularly fond
of reading the 'Shahnameh. ' Though he had a turn for poetry,
he did not cultivate it. He was so strictly just, that when the
caravan from [China] had once reached the hill country to the
*(Memoirs of Baber, Emperor of Hindustan, written by himself, and
translated by Leyden and Erskine,' etc. London, 1826, quarto.
By Edward S. Holden, New York, 1895, 8vo, illustrated.
The Book of Kings,' by the Persian poet Firdausi.


## p. 1143 (#569) ###########################################

BABER
1143
east of Ardejan, and the snow fell so deep as to bury it, so
that of the whole only two persons escaped; he no sooner re-
ceived information of the occurrence than he dispatched overseers
to take charge of all the property, and he placed it under guard
and preserved it untouched, till in the course of one or two years,
the heirs coming from Khorasan, he delivered back the goods
safe into their hands. His generosity was large, and so was his
whole soul; he was of an excellent temper, affable, eloquent, and
sweet in his conversation, yet brave withal and manly.
The early portion of Baber's 'Memoirs' is given to portraits of the
officers of his court and country. A few of these may be quoted.
Khosrou Shah, though a Turk, applied his attention to the
mode of raising his revenues, and he spent them liberally. At
the death of Sultan Mahmud Mirza, he reached the highest pitch
of greatness, and his retainers rose to the number of twenty
thousand. Though he prayed regularly and abstained from for-
bidden foods, yet he was black-hearted and vicious, of mean
understanding and slender talents, faithless and a traitor. For
the sake of the short and fleeting pomp of this vain world, he
put out the eyes of one and murdered another of the sons of the
benefactor in whose service he had been, and by whom he had
been protected; rendering himself accursed of God, abhorred of
men, and worthy of execration and shame till the day of final
retribution. These crimes he perpetrated merely to secure the
enjoyment of some poor worldly vanities; yet with all the power
of his many and populous territories, in spite of his magazines of
warlike stores, he had not the spirit to face a barnyard chicken.
He will often be mentioned in these memoirs.
Ali Shir Beg was celebrated for the elegance of his manners;
and this elegance and polish were ascribed to the conscious pride
of high fortune: but this was not the case; they were natural to
him. Indeed, Ali Shir Beg was an incomparable person. From
the time that poetry was first written in the Turki language,
no man has written so much and so well. He has also left
excellent pieces of music; they are excellent both as to the airs
themselves and as to the preludes. There is not upon record
in history any man who was a greater patron and protector of
men of talent than he. He had no son nor daughter, nor wife
nor family; he passed through the world single and unincum-
bered.


## p. 1144 (#570) ###########################################

BABER
1144
Another poet was Sheikhem Beg. He composed a sort of
verses, in which both the words and the sense are terrifying
and correspond with each other. The following is one of his
couplets:-
During my sorrows of the night, the whirlpool of my sighs bears
the firmament from its place;
The dragons of the inundations of my tears bear down the four
quarters of the habitable world!
It is well known that on one occasion, having repeated these
verses to Moulana Abdal Rahman Jami, the Mulla said, "Are you
repeating poetry, or are you terrifying folks? "
A good many men who wrote verses happened to be present.
During the party the following verse of Muhammed Salikh was
repeated:-
What can one do to regulate his thoughts, with a mistress possessed
of every blandishment?
Where you are, how is it possible for our thoughts to wander to
another?
It was agreed that every one should make an extempore
couplet to the same rhyme and measure. Every one accord-
ingly repeated his verse. As we had been very merry, I re-
peated the following extempore satirical verses: —
What can one do with a drunken sot like you?
What can be done with one foolish as a she-ass?
Before this, whatever had come into my head, good or bad,
I had always committed it to writing. On the present occasion,
when I had composed these lines, my mind led me to reflections,
and my heart was struck with regret that a tongue which could
repeat the sublimest productions should bestow any trouble on
such unworthy verses; that it was melancholy that a heart ele-
vated to nobler conceptions should submit to occupy itself with
these meaner and despicable fancies. From that time forward
I religiously abstained from satirical poetry. I had not then
formed my resolution, nor considered how objectionable the prac-
tice was.
TRANSACTIONS OF THE YEAR 904 [A. D. 1498-99]
Having failed in repeated expeditions against Samarkand and
Ardejan, I once more returned to Khojend. Khojend is but a


## p. 1145 (#571) ###########################################

BABER
1145
small place; and it is difficult for one to support two hundred
retainers in it. How then could a [young] man, ambitious of
empire, set himself down contentedly in so insignificant a place?
As soon as I received advice that the garrison of Ardejan had
declared for me, I made no delay. And thus, by the grace of
the Most High, I recovered my paternal kingdom, of which I
had been deprived nearly two years. An order was issued that
such as had accompanied me in my campaigns might resume
possession of whatever part of their property they recognized.
Although the order seemed reasonable and just in itself, yet it
was issued with too much precipitation. It was a senseless thing
to exasperate so many men with arms in their hands.
In war
and in affairs of state, though things may appear just and rea-
sonable at first sight, no matter ought to be finally decided with-
out being well weighed and considered in a hundred different
lights. From my issuing this single order without sufficient
foresight, what commotions and mutinies arose! This inconsider-
ate order of mine was in reality the ultimate cause of my being
a second time expelled from Ardejan.
Baber's next campaign was most arduous, but in passing by a
spring he had the leisure to have these verses of Saadi inscribed on
its brink:-
I have heard that the exalted Jemshid
Inscribed on a stone beside a fountain:
"Many a man like us has rested by this fountain,
And disappeared in the twinkling of an eye.
Should we conquer the whole world by our manhood and
strength,
Yet could we not carry it with us to the grave. "
Of another fountain he says:- -"I directed this fountain to be
built round with stone, and formed a cistern. At the time when the
Arghwan flowers begin to blow, I do not know that any place in the
world is to be compared to it. " On its sides he engraved these
verses:-
Sweet is the return of the new year;
Sweet is the smiling spring ;
Sweet is the juice of the mellow grape;
Sweeter far the voice of love.
Strive, O Baber! to secure the joys of life,
Which, alas! once departed, never more return.


## p. 1146 (#572) ###########################################

1146
BABER
From these flowers Baber and his army marched into the passes
of the high mountains.
His narrative goes on:-
It was at this time that I composed the following verses:
There is no violence or injury of fortune that I have not experi-
enced;
This broken heart has endured them all. Alas! is there one left
that I have not encountered?
For about a week we continued pressing down the snow
without being able to advance more than two or three miles. I
myself assisted in trampling down the snow. Every step we
sank up to the middle or the breast, but we still went on,
trampling it down. As the strength of the person who went first
was generally exhausted after he had advanced a few paces, he
stood still, while another took his place. The ten, fifteen, or
twenty people who worked in trampling down the snow, next
succeeded in dragging on a horse without a rider. Drawing this
horse aside, we brought on another, and in this way ten, fifteen,
or twenty of us contrived to bring forward the horses of all our
number. The rest of the troops, even our best men, advanced
along the road that had been beaten for them, hanging their
heads. This was no time for plaguing them or employing
authority. Every man who possesses spirit or emulation hastens
to such works of himself. Continuing to advance by a track
which we beat in the snow in this manner, we reached a cave
at the foot of the Zirrin pass. That day the storm of wind was
dreadful. The snow fell in such quantities that we all expected
to meet death together. The cave seemed to be small. I took
a hoe and made for myself at the mouth of the cave a resting-
place about the size of a prayer-carpet. I dug down in the
snow as deep as my breast, and yet did not reach the ground.
This hole afforded me some shelter from the wind, and I sat
down in it. Some desired me to go into the cavern, but I
would not go. I felt that for me to be in a warm dwelling,
while my men were in the midst of snow and drift,- for me to
be within, enjoying sleep and ease, while my followers were in
trouble and distress,- would be inconsistent with what I owed
them, and a deviation from that society in suffering which was
their due. I continued, therefore, to sit in the drift.


## p. 1147 (#573) ###########################################

BABER
[147
Ambition admits not of inaction;
The world is his who exerts himself;
In wisdom's eye, every condition
May find repose save royalty alone.
By leadership like this, the descendant of Tamerlane became the
ruler of Kabul. He celebrates its charms in verse:-
Its verdure and flowers render Kabul, in spring, a heaven,-
but this kingdom was too small for a man of Baber's stamp. He
used it as a stepping-stone to the conquest of India (1526).
Return a hundred thanks, O Baber! for the bounty of the merciful
God
Has given you Sind, Hind, and numerous kingdoms;
If, unable to stand the heat, you long for cold,
You have only to recollect the frost and cold of Ghazni.
In spite of these verses, Baber did not love India, and his mon-
archy was an exile to him. Let the last extract from his memoirs
be a part of a letter written in 1529 to an old and trusted friend in
Kabul. It is an outpouring of the griefs of his inmost heart to his
friend. He says:-
My solicitude to visit my western dominions (Kabul) is
boundless and great beyond expression. I trust in Almighty
Allah that the time is near at hand when everything will be
completely settled in this country. As soon as matters are
brought to that state, I shall, with the permission of Allah, set
out for your quarters without a moment's delay. How is it pos-
sible that the delights of those lands should ever be erased from
the heart? How is it possible to forget the delicious melons
and grapes of that pleasant region? They very recently brought
me a single muskmelon from Kabul. While cutting it up, I felt
myself affected with a strong feeling of loneliness and a sense of
my exile from my native country, and I could not help shedding
tears. [He gives long instructions on the military and political
matters to be attended to, and continues without a break:-]
At the southwest of Besteh I formed a plantation of trees; and
as the prospect from it was very fine, I called it Nazergah [the
view]. You must there plant some beautiful trees, and all
around sow beautiful and sweet-smelling flowers and shrubs.
[And he goes straight on:-] Syed Kasim will accompany the
artillery. [After more details of the government he quotes.


## p. 1148 (#574) ###########################################

1148
BABRIUS
fondly a little trivial incident of former days and friends, and
says:] Do not think amiss of me for deviating into these
fooleries. I conclude with every good wish.
The Memoirs' of Baber deserve a place beside the writings of
the greatest of generals and conquerors. He is not unworthy to be
classed with Cæsar as a general and as a man of letters. His char-
acter was more human, more frank, more lovable, more ardent. His
fellow in our western world is not Cæsar, but Henri IV. of France
and Navarre.
Edward S. Holden
BABRIUS
(First Century A. D. )
B
ABRIUS, also referred to as Babrias and Gabrias, was the
writer of that metrical version of the folk-fables, commonly
referred to Æsop, which delights our childhood. Until the
time of Richard Bentley he was commonly thought of merely as a
fabulist whose remains had been preserved by a few grammarians.
Bentley, in the first draft (1697) of the part of his famous Disser-
tation treating of the fables of Esop, speaks thus of Babrius, and
goes not far out of his way to give a rap at Planudes, a late Greek,
who turned works of Ovid, Cato, and Cæsar into Greek:-
༥.
ambics.
Tzetzes.
-
came one Babrius, that gave a new turn of the fables into choli-
Nobody that I know of mentions him but Suidas, Avienus, and
There's one Gabrias, indeed, yet extant, that has comprised each
fable in four sorry iambics. But our Babrius is a writer of another size and
quality; and were his book now extant, it might justly be opposed, if not pre-
ferred, to the Latin of Phædrus. There's a whole fable of his yet preserved
at the end of Gabrias, of The Swallow and the Nightingale. ' Suidas brings
many citations out of him, all which show him an excellent poet.
There are two parcels of the present fables; the one, which are the more
ancient, one hundred and thirty-six in number, were first published out of the
Heidelberg Library by Neveletus, 1610. The editor himself well observed
that they were falsely ascribed to Æsop, because they mention holy monks.
To which I will add another remark, — that there is a sentence out of Job.
Thus I have proved one-half of the fables now extant that carry the
name of Æsop to be above a thousand years more recent than he. And the
other half, that were public before Neveletus, will be found yet more modern,
and the latest of all.
This collection, therefore, is more recent than
.


## p. 1149 (#575) ###########################################

BABRIUS
1149
that other; and, coming first abroad with Æsop's 'Life,' written by Planudes,
'tis justly believed to be owing to the same writer. That idiot of a monk
has given us a book which he calls The Life of Esop,' that perhaps cannot
be matched in any language for ignorance and nonsense.
He had picked up
two or three true stories, that Æsop was a slave to a Xanthus, carried a
burthen of bread, conversed with Crœsus, and was put to death at Delphi; but
the circumstances of these and all his other tales are pure invention.
But of all his injuries to Æsop, that which can least be forgiven him is the
making such a monster of him for ugliness, an abuse that has found credit
so universally that all the modern painters since the time of Planudes have
drawn him in the worst shapes and features that fancy could invent. 'Twas
an old tradition among the Greeks that Æsop revived again and lived a sec-
ond life. Should he revive once more and see the picture before the book
that carries his name, could he think it drawn for himself? - or for the
monkey, or some strange beast introduced in the Fables > ?