No More Learning

Sing ho, ho, ho! and he, he, he!
That's the kind of king for me.
The portrait of this best of kings
Is extant still, upon a sign
That on a village tavern swings,
Famed in the country for good wine.
The people in their Sunday trim,
Filling their glasses to the brim,
Look up to him,
Singing “ha, ha, ha! ” and “he, he, he!
That's the sort of king for me. ”
Version of W. M. Thackeray.


## p. 1792 (#596) ###########################################

1792
JEAN-PIERRE DE BÉRANGER
FORTUNE
R
AP! rap! - Is that my lass
Rap! rap! - is rapping there?
It is Fortune. Let her pass!
I'll not open the door to her.
Rap! rap! -
All of my friends are making gay
My little room, with lips wine-wet:
We only wait for you, Lisette!
Fortune! you may go your way.
Rap! rap!
If we might credit half her boast,
What wonders gold has in its gift!
Well, we have twenty bottles left
And still some credit with our host.
Rap! rap! -
1
Her pearls, and rubies too, she quotes,
And mantles more than sumptuous:
Lord! but the purple's naught to us, -
We're just now taking off our coats.
Rap! rap! -
She treats us as the rawest youths,
With talk of genius and of fame:
Thank calumny, alas, for shame!
Our faith is spoiled in laurel growths.
Rap! rap! -
Far from our pleasures, we care not
Her highest heavens to attain;
She fills her big balloons in vain
Till we have swamped our little boat.
Rap! rap! -
Yet all our neighbors crowd to be
Within her ring of promises,
Ah! surely, friends! our mistresses
Will cheat us more agreeably.
Rap! rap! -


## p. 1793 (#597) ###########################################

JEAN-PIERRE DE BÉRANGER
1793
THE PEOPLE'S REMINISCENCES
(LES SOUVENIRS DU PEUPLE)
A"
Y, MANY a day the straw-thatched cot
Shall echo with his glory!
The humblest shed, these fifty years,
Shall know no other story.
There shall the idle villagers
To some old dame resort,
And beg her with those good old tales
To make their evenings short.
“What though they say he did us harm?
Our love this cannot dim;
Come, granny, talk of him to us;
Come, granny, talk of him. ”
“Well, children — with a train of kings,
Once he passed by this spot;
'Twas long ago; I had but just
Begun to boil the pot.
On foot he climbed the hill, whereon
I watched him on his way:
He wore a small three-cornered hat;
His overcoat was gray.
I was half frightened till he said
"Good day, my dear! ) to me. ”
"O granny, granny, did he speak?
What, granny! you and he ? »
“Next year, as I, poor soul, by chance
Through Paris strolled one day,
I saw him taking, with his court,
To Notre Dame his way.
The crowd were charmed with such a show;
Their hearts were filled with pride:
(What splendid weather for the fête !
Heaven favors him! ) they cried.
Softly he smiled, for God had given
To his fond arms a boy. "
“Oh, how much joy you must have felt!
O granny, how much joy!
« But when at length our poor Champagne
By foes was overrun,
III-113


## p. 1794 (#598) ###########################################

1794
JEAN-PIERRE DE BÉRANGER
He seemed alone to hold his ground;
Nor dangers would he shun.
One night — as might be now - I heard
A knock — the door unbarred-
And saw
-good God! 'twas he, himself,
With but a scanty guard.
(Oh, what a war is this! he cried,
Taking this very chair. ”
“What! granny, granny, there he sat ?
What! granny, he sat there? »
« I'm hungry,' said he: quick I served
Thin wine and hard brown bread;
He dried his clothes, and by the fire
In sleep dropped down his head.
Waking, he saw my tears — Cheer up,
Good dame! ) says he, I go
'Neath Paris' walls to strike for France
One last avenging blow. '
He went; but on the cup he used
Such value did I set -
It has been treasured. ) ( What! till now?
You have it, granny, yet ? ”
« Here 'tis: but 'twas the hero's fate
To ruin to be led;
He whom a Pope had crowned, alas!
In a lone isle lies dead.
'Twas long denied: No, no,' said they,
(Soon shall he reappear!
O'er ocean comes he, and the foe
Shall find his master here. )
Ah, what a bitter pang I felt,
When forced to own 'twas true ! »
Poor granny! Heaven for this will look -
Will kindly look on you. ”
Translation of William Young.


## p. 1795 (#599) ###########################################

JEAN-PIERRE DE BÉRANGER
1795
THE OLD TRAMP
(LE VIEUX VAGABOND)
H
ERE in this gutter let me die:
Weary and sick and old, I've done.
« He's drunk,” will say the passers-by:
All right, I want no pity — none.
I see the heads that turn away,
While others glance and toss me
« Off to your junket! go! ” I say:
Old tramp,- to die I need no help from you.
ous:
Yes, of old age I'm dying now:
Of hunger people never die.
i hoped some almshouse might allow
A shelter when my end was nigh;
But all retreats are overflowed,
Such crowds are suffering and forlorn.
My nurse, alas! has been the road:
Old tramp,- here let me die where I was born.
When young, it used to be my prayer
To craftsmen, “Let me learn your trade. ”
« Clear out - we've got no work to spare;
Go beg,” was all reply they made.
You rich, who bade me work, I've fed
With relish on the bones you threw;
Made of your straw an easy bed:
Old tramp,- I have no curse to vent on you.
Poor wretch, I had the choice to steal ;
But no, I'd rather beg my bread.
At most I thieved a wayside meal
Of apples ripening overhead.
Yet twenty times have I been thrown
In prison — 'twas the King's decree;
Robbed of the only thing I own:
Old tramp, — at least the sun belongs to me.
The poor man is a country his?
What are to me your corn and wine,
Your glory and your industries,
Your orators? They are not mine.
And when a foreign foe waxed fat
Within your undefended walls,


## p. 1796 (#600) ###########################################

1796
JEAN-PIERRE DE BÉRANGER
I shed my tears, poor fool, at that:
Old tramp,- his hand was open to my calls.
Why, like the hateful bug you kill,
Did you not crush me when you could ?
Or better, teach me ways and skill
To labor for the common good ?
The ugly grub an ant may end,
If sheltered from the cold and fed.
You might have had me for a friend:
Old tramp,–I die your enemy instead.
Translated for the World's Best Literature. )
FIFTY YEARS
(CINQUANTE ANS)
W"
HEREFORE these flowers ? floral applause ?
Ah, no, these blossoms came to say
That I am growing old, because
I number fifty years to-day.
O rapid, ever-fleeting day!
O moments lost, I know not how!
O wrinkled cheek and hair grown gray!
Alas, for I am fifty now!
Not yet
Sad age, when we pursue no more
Fruit dies upon the withering tree:
Hark! some one rapped upon my door.
Nay, open not. 'Tis not for me
Or else the doctor calls.
Must I expect his studious bow.
Once I'd have called, «Come in, Lizzette » -
Alas, for I am fifty now!
In age what aches and pains abound:
The torturing gout racks us awhile;
Blindness, a prison dark, profound;
Or deafness that provokes a smile.
Then Reason's lamp grows faint and dim
With flickering ray. Children, allow
Old Age the honor due to him—
Alas, for I am fifty now!
Ah, heaven! the voice of Death I know,
Who rubs his hands in joyous mood;


## p. 1797 (#601) ###########################################

JEAN-PIERRE DE BÉRANGER
1797
The sexton knocks and I must go-
Farewell, my friends the human brood!
Below are famine, plague, and strife;
Above, new heavens my soul endow:
Since God remains, begin, new life!
Alas, for I am fifty now!
But no, 'tis you, sweetheart, whose youth,
Tempting my soul with dainty ways,
Shall hide from it the sombre truth,
This incubus of evil days.
Springtime is yours, and flowers; come then,
Scatter your roses on my brow,
And let me dream of youth again
Alas, for I am fifty now!
Translation of Walter Learned.
THE GARRET
W"
Tu pensive eyes the little room I view,
Where in my youth I weathered it so long,
With a wild mistress, a stanch friend or two,
And a light heart still breaking into song;
Making a mock of life, and all its cares,
Rich in the glory of my rising sun:
Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs,
In the brave days when I was twenty-one.
Yes; 'tis a garret — let him know't who will —
There was my bed — full hard it was and small;
My table there - and I decipher still
Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall.
Ye joys, that Time hath swept with him away,
Come to mine eyes, ye dreams of love and fun:
For you I pawned my watch how many a day,
In the brave days when I was twenty-one!
And see my little Jessy, first of all;
She comes with pouting lips and sparkling eyes:
Behold, how roguishly she pins her shawl
Across the narrow casement, curtain-wise:
Now by the bed her petticoat glides down,
And when did women look the worse in none ?
I have heard since who paid for many a gown,
In the brave days when I was twenty-one.


## p. 1798 (#602) ###########################################

1798
JEAN-PIERRE DE BÉRANGER
One jolly evening, when my friends and I
Made happy music with our songs and cheers,
A shout of triumph mounted up thus high,
And distant cannon opened on our ears;
We rise, - we join in the triumphant strain, -
Napoleon conquers — Austerlitz is won -
Tyrants shall never tread us down again,
In the brave days when I was twenty-one.
Let us begone — the place is sad and strange
How far, far off, these happy times appear!
All that I have to live I'd gladly change
For one such month as I have wasted here
To draw long dreams of beauty, love, and power,
From founts of hope that never will outrun,
And drink all life's quintessence in an hour:
Give me the days when I was twenty-one.
Version of W. M. Thackeray.
MY TOMB
(MON TOMBEAU)
W"
HAT! whilst I'm well, beforehand you design,
At vast expense, for me to build a shrine ?
Friends, 'tis absurd! to no such outlay go;
Le ve to the great the pomp and pride of woe.
Take what for marble or for brass would pay
For a dead beggar garb by far too gay -
And buy life-stirring wine on my behalf:
The money for my tomb right gayly let us quaff!
A mausoleum worthy of my thanks
At least would cost you twenty thousand francs:
Come, for six months, rich vale and balmy sky,
As gay recluses, be it ours to try.
Concerts and balls, where Beauty's self invites,
Shall furnish us our castle of delights;
I'll run the risk of finding life too sweet:
The money for my tomb right gayly let us eat!
But old I grow, and Lizzy's youthful yet:
Costly attire, then, she expects to get;
For to long fast a show of wealth resigns -
Bear witness Longchamps, where all Paris shines!


## p. 1799 (#603) ###########################################

JEAN-PIERRE DE BÉRANGER
1799
You to my fair one something surely owe;
A Cashmere shawl she's looking for, I know:
'Twere well for life on such a faithful breast
The money for my tomb right gayly to invest !
No box of state, good friends, would I engage,
For mine own use, where spectres tread the stage:
What poor wan man with haggard eyes is this?
Soon must he die — ah, let him taste of bliss !
The veteran first should the raised curtain see —
There in the pit to keep a place for me,
(Tired of his wallet, long he cannot live) –
The money for my tomb to him let's gayly give!
What doth it boot me, that some learned eye
May spell my name on gravestone, by and by ?
As to the flowers they promise for my bier,
I'd rather, living, scent their perfume here.
And thou, posterity! — that ne'er mayst be —
Waste not thy torch in seeking signs of me!
Like a wise man, I deemed that I was bound
The money for my tomb to scatter gayly round!
Translation of William Young.
FROM HIS PREFACE TO HIS COLLECTED POEMS
I
HAVE treated it [the revolution of 1830] as
a power which
might have whims one should be in a position to resist. All
or nearly all my friends have taken office. I have still one
or two who are hanging from the greased pole. I am pleased
to believe that they are caught by the coat-tails, in spite of their
efforts to come down. I might therefore have had a share in the
distribution of offices. Unluckily I have no love for sinecures,
and all compulsory labor has grown intolerable to me, except per-
haps that of a copying clerk. Slanderers have pretended that I
acted from virtue. Pshaw! I acted from laziness. That defect
has served me in place of merits; wherefore I recommend it to
many of our honest men. It exposes one, however, to curious
reproaches. It is to that placid indolence that severe critics
have laid the distance I have kept myself from those of my hon-
orable friends who have attained power. Giving too much honor
to what they choose to call my fine intellect, and forgetting too
much how far it is from simple good sense to the science of


## p. 1800 (#604) ###########################################

1800
JEAN-PIERRE DE BÉRANGER
great affairs, these critics maintain that my counsels might have
enlightened more than one minister. If one believes them, I,
crouching behind our statesmen's velvet chairs, would have con-
jured down the winds, dispelled the storms, and enabled France
to swim in an ocean of delights. We should all have had liberty
to sell, or rather to give away, but we are still rather ignorant
of the price. Ah! my two or three friends who take a song.
writer for a magician, have you never heard, then, that power is
a bell which prevents those who set it ringing from hearing any-
thing else? Doubtless ministers sometimes consult those at hand:
consultation is a means of talking about one's self which is rarely
neglected. But it will not be enough even to consult in good
faith those who will advise in the same way. One must still act:
that is the duty of the position. The purest intentions, the most
enlightened patriotism, do not always confer it. Who has not
seen high officials leave a counselor with brave intentions, and
an instant after return to him, from I know not what fascination,
with a perplexity that gave the lie to the wisest resolutions ?
« Oh! they say, we will not be caught there again! what
drudgery! ” The more shamefaced add, “I'd like to
see you
in my place!
” When a minister says that, be sure he has no
longer a head. There is indeed one of them, but only one, who,
without having lost his head, has often used this phrase with the
utmost sincerity; he has therefore never used it to a friend.
(


## p. 1801 (#605) ###########################################

1801
GEORGE BERKELEY
(1685-1753)
Ew readers in the United States are unfamiliar with the lines,
“Westward the course of empire takes its way. ” It is
vaguely remembered that a certain Bishop Berkeley was
the author of a treatise on tar-water. There is moreover a general
impression that this Bishop Berkeley contended for the unreality of
all things outside of his own mind, and now and then some recall
Byron's lines -
«When Bishop Berkeley said there was no matter,'
And proved it,—'twas no matter what he said. ”
This is the substance of the popular knowledge of one of the pro-
foundest thinkers of the early part of the eighteenth century, — the
time of Shaftesbury and Locke, of Addison
and Steele, of Butler, Pope, and Swift,
one of the most fascinating men of his
day, and one of the best of any age.
Beside, or rather above, Byron's line should
be placed Pope's tribute :

« To Berkeley, every virtue under Heaven. ”
an
Swift pre-
Berkeley was born in Ireland, probably
at Dysart Castle in the Valley of the Nore,
near Kilkenny, March 12, 1685. The fam-
ily having but lately come into Ireland,
Berkeley always accounted himself
GEORGE BERKELEY
Englishman. At Kilkenny School he met
the poet Prior, who became his intimate friend, his business repre-
sentative, and his most regular correspondent for life.
ceded him at this school and at Trinity College, Dublin, whither
Berkeley went March 21, 1700, being then fifteen years of age. Here
as at Kilkenny he took rank much beyond his years, and was soon
deep in philosophical speculations.
In Professor Fraser's edition of the Life and Works of Berkeley)
appears a Common-Place Book,' kept during the Trinity College
terms, and full of most remarkable memoranda for a youth of his
years. In 1709, while still at Trinity, he published an Essay
toward a New Theory of Vision, which foreshadowed imperfectly
his leading ideas. In the following year he published a 'Treatise


## p. 1802 (#606) ###########################################

1802
GEORGE BERKELEY
concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge. Two or three
years later he went to London, where he was received with unusual
favor and quickly became intimate in the literary circles of the day.
He made friends everywhere, being attractive in all ways, young,
handsome, graceful, fascinating in discourse, enthusiastic, and full of
thought. Swift was especially impressed by him, and did much to
further his fortunes.
His philosophical conceptions he at this time popularized in
(Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous,' a work rated by
some critics as at the head of its class.
Before going to London, Berkeley had been made a Fellow of
Trinity, had been appointed to various college offices, and had taken
orders. He remained away from Dublin for about eight years, on
leave frequently extended, writing in London, and traveling, teach-
ing, and writing on the Continent. On his return from his foreign
travels in 1720 or 1721, he found society completely demoralized by
the collapse of the South Sea bubble. He was much depressed by
the conditions around him, and sought to awaken the moral sense
of the people by (An Essay toward Preventing the Ruin of Great
Britain. Returning to Dublin and resuming college duties, he was
shortly made Dean of Dromore, and then Dean of Derry. Hardly
had he received these dignified appointments when he began plan-
ning to rid himself of them, being completely absorbed in a scheme
for a University in the Bermudas, which should educate scholars,
teachers, and ministers for the New World, to which his hope
turned. To this scheme he devoted himself for many years. A
singular occurrence, which released him from pecuniary cares, en-
abled him to give his time as well as his heart to the work. Miss
Vanhomrigh, the Vanessa' of Swift, upon her mother's death, left
London, and went to live in Ireland, to be near her beloved Dean;
and there she was informed of Swift's marriage to Stella. ' The
news killed her, but she revoked the will by which her fortune was
bequeathed to Swift, and left one-half of it, or about £4,000, to
Berkeley, whom she had met but once. He must have kept an
atmosphere,” as Bagehot says of Francis Horner.
Going to London on fire with his great scheme, prepared to resign
his deanery and cast in his lot with that of the proposed University,
Berkeley wasted years in the effort to secure a charter and grant
from the administration. His enthusiasın and his fascinating manners
effected much, and over and over again only the simplest formalities
seemed necessary to success. Only the will of Sir Robert Walpole
stood in the way, but Walpole's will sufficed. At last, in September,
1728, tired of waiting at court, Berkeley, who had just married, sailed
with three or four friends, including the artist Sinibert, for Rhode


## p. 1803 (#607) ###########################################

GEORGE BERKELEY
1803
Island, intending to await there the completion of his grant, and
then proceed to Bermuda. He bought a farm near Newport, and
built a house which he called Whitehall, in which he lived for about
three years, leaving a tradition of a benignant but retired and scho-
lastic life. Among the friends who were here drawn to him was the
Rev. Samuel Johnson of Stratford, afterward the first President of
King's (now Columbia) College, with whom he corresponded during
the remainder of his life, and through whom he was able to aid
greatly the cause of education in America.
The Newport life was idyllic. Berkeley wrote home that the
winters were cooler than those of the South of Ireland, but not worse
than he had known in Italy. He brought over a good library, and
read and wrote. The principal work of this period, written in a
romantic cleft in the rocks, was (Alciphron, or the Minute Philoso-
pher,' in seven dialogues, directed especially against atheism.
At length, through Lord Percival, Berkeley learned that Walpole
would not allow the parliamentary grant of £20,000 for the Bermuda
College, and returned to England at the close of 1732. His White-
hall estate he conveyed to Yale College for the maintenance of
certain scholarships. From England he sent over nearly a thousand
volumes for the Yale library, the best collection of books ever
brought at one time to America, being helped in the undertaking by
some of the Bermuda subscribers. A little later he sent a collection
of books to Harvard College also, and presented a valuable organ to
Trinity Church in Newport.
Shortly after his return, Berkeley was appointed Bishop of Cloyne,
near Cork in Ireland, and here he remained for about eighteen years.
Although a recluse, he wrote much, and he kept up his loving rela-
tions with old friends who still survived. He had several children
to educate, and he cultivated music and painting. He attempted to
establish manufactures, and to cultivate habits of industry and refine-
ment among the people. The winter of 1739 was bitterly cold. This
was followed by general want, famine, and disease. Berkeley and his
family lived simply and gave away what they could save. Large num-
bers of the people died from an epidemic. In America Berkeley's
attention had been drawn to the medicinal virtues of tar, and he
experimented successfully with tar-water as a remedy. Becoming
more and more convinced of its value, he exploited his supposed dis-
covery with his usual ardor, writing letters and essays, and at length
A Chain of Philosophical Reflections and Enquiries concerning the
Virtues of Tar-water and divers other subjects connected together and
arising one from another. ' This was called (Siris) in a second edition
which was soon demanded. Beginning with the use of tar-water as
a remedy, the treatise gradually developed into the treatment of the


## p. 1804 (#608) ###########################################

1804
GEORGE BERKELEY
largest themes, and offered the ripest fruits of the Bishop's phi-
losophy.
Berkeley's system was neither consistent nor complete, but much
of it remains sound. In brief, he contended that matter has no inde-
pendent existence, but is an idea in the supreme mind, which is
realized in various forms by the human mind. Without mind noth-
ing exists. Cause cannot exist except as it rests in mind and will.
All so-called physical causes are merely cases of constant sequence
of phenomena. Far from denying the reality of phenomena, Berke-
ley insists upon it; but contends that reality depends upon the suprem-
acy of mind. Abstract matter does not and cannot exist. The mind
can only perceive qualities of objects, and infers the existence of the
objects from them; or as a modern writer tersely puts it, “The only
thing certain is mind. · Matter is a doubtful and uncertain inference
of the human intellect. ”
The essay upon Tar-water attracted great attention. The good
bishop wrote much also for periodicals, mainly upon practical themes;
and in The Querist, an intermittent journal, considered many matters
of ethical and political importance to the country. Though a bishop
of the Established Church, he lived upon the most friendly terms
with his Roman Catholic neighbors, and his labors were highly ap-
preciated by them.
But his life was waning. His friends had passed away, he had
lost several children, his health was broken. He desired to retire to
Oxford and spend the remainder of his life in scholarly seclusion.
He asked to exchange his bishopric for a canonry, but this could not
be permitted. He then begged to be allowed to resign his charge,
but the king replied that he might live where he pleased, but that
he should die a bishop in spite of himself. In August, 1752, Bishop
Berkeley removed himself, his wife, his daughter, and his goods to
Oxford, where his son George was a student; and here on the four-
teenth of the following January, as he was resting on his couch by
the fireside at tea-time, his busy brain stopped thinking, and his kind
heart ceased to beat.


## p. 1805 (#609) ###########################################

GEORGE BERKELEY
1805
ON THE PROSPECT OF
PLANTING ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA
THE
HE Muse, disgusted at an age and clime
Barren of every glorious theme,
In distant lands now waits a better time,
Producing subjects worthy fame:
In happy climes, where from the genial sun
And virgin earth such scenes ensue,
The force of art by nature seems outdone,
And fancied beauties by the true;
In happy climes, the seat of innocence,
Where nature guides and virtue rules,
Where men shall not impose for truth and sense
The pedantry of courts and schools:
There shall be sung another golden age,
The rise of empire and of arts,
The good and great inspiring epic rage,
The wisest heads and noblest hearts.
Not such as Europe breeds in her decay:
Such as she bred when fresh and young,
When heavenly flame did animate her clay,
By future poets shall be sung.
Westward the course of empire takes its way. ;
The four first Acts already past,
A fifth shall close the Drama with the day:
Time's noblest offspring is the last.
ESSAY ON TAR-WATER
From (Siris)
He seeds of things seem to lie latent in the air, ready to
,
proper matrix. The extremely small seeds of fern, mosses,
mushrooms, and some other plants, are concealed and wafted
about in the air, every part whereof seems replete with seeds of
one kind or other. The whole atmosphere seems alive. There
is everywhere acid to corrode, and seed to engender. Iron will


## p. 1806 (#610) ###########################################

1806
GEORGE BERKELEY
rust, and mold will grow, in all places. Virgin earth becomes
fertile, crops of new plants ever and anon show themselves, all
which demonstrate the air to be a common seminary and recept-
acle of all vivifying principles.
The eye by long use comes to see, even in the darkest cav-
ern; and there is no subject so obscure, but we may discern
some glimpse of truth by long poring on it. Truth is the cry of
all, but the game of a few. Certainly where it is the chief pas-
sion, it doth not give way to vulgar cares and views; nor is it
contented with a little ardor in the early time of life; active,
perhaps, to pursue, but not so fit to weigh and revise. He that
would make a real progress in knowledge, must dedicate his age
as well as youth, the later growth as well as first fruits, at the
altar of truth.
As the nerves are instruments of sensation, it follows that
spasms in the nerves may produce all symptoms, and therefore a
disorder in the nervous system shall imitate all distempers, and
occasion, in appearance, an asthma for instance, a pleurisy, or a
fit of the stone. Now, whatever is good for the nerves in gen-
eral is good against all such symptoms. But tar-water, as it
includes in an eminent degree the virtues of warm gums and
resins, is of great use for comforting and strengthening the
nerves, curing twitches in the nervous fibres, cramps also, and
numbness in the limbs, removing anxieties and promoting sleep,
in all which cases I have known it very successful.
This safe and cheap medicine suits all circumstances and all
constitutions, operating easily, curing without disturbing, raising
the spirits without depressing them, a circumstance that deserves
repeated attention, especially in these climates, where strong
liquors so fatally and so frequently produce those very distresses
they are designed to remedy; and if I am not misinformed, even
among the ladies themselves, who are truly much to be pitied.
Their condition of life makes them a prey to imaginary woes,
which never fail to grow up in minds unexercised and unem-
ployed. To get rid of these, it is said, there are who betake
themselves to distilled spirits. And it is not improbable they
are led gradually to the use of those poisons by a certain com-
plaisant pharmacy, too much used in the modern practice, palsy
drops, poppy cordial, plague water, and such-like, which being
in truth nothing but drams disguised, yet coming from the
apothecaries, are considered only as medicines.


## p. 1807 (#611) ###########################################

GEORGE BERKELEY
1807
The soul of man was supposed by many ancient sages to be
thrust into the human body as into a prison, for punishment of
past offenses.
But the worst prison is the body of an indolent
epicure, whose blood is inflamed by fermented liquors and high
sauces, or rendered putrid, sharp, and corrosive by a stagnation
of the animal juices through sloth and indolence; whose mem-
branes are irritated by pungent salts; whose mind is agitated by
painful oscillations of the nervous system, and whose nerves are
mutually affected by the irregular passions of his mind. This
ferment in the animal economy darkens and confounds the intel-
lect. It produceth vain terrors and vain conceits, and stimulates
the soul with mad desires, which, not being natural, nothing in
nature can satisfy. No wonder, therefore, there are so many
fine persons of both sexes, shining themselves, and shone on by
fortune, who are inwardly miserable and sick of life.
The hardness of stubbed vulgar constitutions renders them
insensible of a thousand things that fret and gall those delicate
people, who, as if their skin was peeled off, feel to the quick
everything that touches them. The remedy for this exquisite
and painful sensibility is commonly sought from fermented, per-
haps from distilled liquors, which render many lives wretched
that would otherwise have been only ridiculous. The tender
nerves and low spirits of such poor creatures would be much
relieved by the use of tar-water, which might prolong and cheer
their lives. I do therefore recommend to them the use of a
cordial, not only safe and innocent, but giving health and spirit
as sure as other cordials destroy them.
I do verily think there is not any other medicine whatsoever
so effectual to restore a crazy constitution and cheer a dreary
mind, or so likely to subvert that gloomy empire of the spleen
which tyrannizeth over the better sort (as they are called) of
these free nations, and maketh them, in spite of their liberty
and property, more wretched slaves than even the subjects of ab-
solute power who breathe clear air in a sunny climate, while
men of low degree often enjoy a tranquillity and content that no
advantage of birth or fortune can equal. Such indeed was the
case while the rich alone could afford to be debauched; but
when even beggars became debauchees, the case was altered.
The public virtue and spirit of the British legislature never
showed itself more conspicuous in any act, than in that for
suppressing the immoderate use of distilled spirits among the


## p. 1808 (#612) ###########################################

1808
GEORGE BERKELEY
people, whose strength and numbers constitute the true wealth of
a nation: though evasive arts will, it is feared, prevail so long
as distilled spirits of any kind are allowed, the character of
Englishmen in general being that of Brutus, Quicquid vult valde
vult [whatever he desires he desires intensely). But why should
such a canker be tolerated in the vitals of a State, under any
pretense, or in any shape whatsoever ? Better by far the whole
present set of distillers were pensioners of the public, and their
trade abolished by law; since all the benefit thereof put together
would not balance the hundredth part of its mischief.
This tar-water will also give charitable relief to the ladies,
who often want it more than the parish poor; being many of
them never able to make a good meal, and sitting pale and puny,
and forbidden like ghosts, at their own table, victims of vapors
and indigestion.
Studious persons also, pent up in narrow holes, breathing bad
air, and stooping over their books, are much to be pitied. As
they are debarred the free use of air and exercise, this I will
venture to recommend as the best succedaneum to both; though
it were to be wished that modern scholars would, like the ancients,
meditate and converse more in walks and gardens and open air,
which upon the whole would perhaps be no hindrance to their
learning, and a great advantage to their health. My own sed-
entary course of life had long since thrown me into an ill habit,
attended with many ailments, particularly a nervous colic, which
rendered my life a burden, and the more so because my pains
were exasperated by exercise. But since the use of tar-water, I
find, though not a perfect recovery from my old and rooted ill-
ness, yet such a gradual return of health and ease, that I esteem
my having taken this medicine the greatest of all temporal bless-
ings, and am convinced that under Providence I owe my life
to it.


## p. 1809 (#613) ###########################################

1809
HECTOR BERLIOZ
(1803-1869)
name
THE concert-goer the
Hector Berlioz calls up a
series of vast and magnificent whirlwinds of vocal and
orchestral sonority, the thoughts of scores that sound and
look imposingly complex to the eyes and ears of both the educated
and uneducated in the composer's art. We have a vision of close
pages embodying the most unequivocal and drastic of musical “real-
ism. ” The full audacity and mastery of a certain sort of genius are
represented in his vast works. They bespeak, too, the combative
musician and reformer. Berlioz took the
kingdom of music by violence.
His chef d'æuvres do not all say to us as
much as he meant them to say, not as much
as they all uttered twenty years ago.
There
is much clay as well as gold in them. But
such tremendous products of his energy and
intellect as the “Requiem,' the “Te Deum,'
(The Damnation of Faust,' his best descript-
ive symphonies such as the “Romeo and
Juliet,' are yet eloquent to the public and
to the critical-minded. His best was so very
good that his worst weighed as a matter
of principle or execution, regarded as music HECTOR BERLIOZ
or “programme music " - can be excused.
Berlioz's actual biography is a long tale of storm and stress. Not
only was he slow in gaining appreciation while he lived; full com-
prehension of his power was not granted him till after his energetic
life was over. Recognition in his own country is incomplete to day.
He was born in 1803, near picturesque Grenoble, in the little town of
Côte St. André, the son of an excellent country doctor. Sent to
Paris to study medicine, he became a musician against his father's
wish, and in lieu of the allowance that his father promptly withdrew,
the young man lived by engaging in the chorus of the Gymnase, and
by catching at every straw for subsistence. He became a regular
music-student of the Conservatory, under the admirable Lesueur and
Reicha; quitted the Conservatory in disgust at its pedantry, in 1825;
and lived and advanced in musical study as best he could for a con-
siderable time. His convictions in art were founded largely on the
JII-114



## p. 1810 (#614) ###########################################

1810
HECTOR BERLIOZ
was
a
rock of Gluck, Mozart, Beethoven, and Weber; and however modern,
and however widely his work departs from such academic models,
Berlioz never forswore a certain allegiance to these great and serene
masters. He returned to the Conservatory, studied hard, gained the
Prix de Rome, gradually took a prominent place among Parisian com-
posers, and was as enthusiastically the subject of a cult as
Wagner. His concerts and the production of his operas encountered
shameful cabals. His strongest works were neglected or ill-served.
To their honor, German musicians understood him, Schumann and Liszt
in especial. Only in Germany to-day are his colossal operas heard.
The Italian Paganini showed a generous interest in his struggles.
Russia and Austria too admired him, while his compatriots hissed.
His career was one of endless work, disappointments, brief successes,
battles, hopes, and despairs. Personally, too, it was full of the hap-
piness and unhappiness of the artistic temperament.
It was between the two periods of his Conservatory life that he
endured his chief sentimental misfortune,— his falling in love with
and finally marrying Henrietta Smithson. Miss Smithson was
young English actress playing Shakespearean rôles in France with
a passing success. She was exquisitely lovely - Delaroche has painted
her spirituelle beauty in his Ophelia. The marriage was the typi-
cally unfortunate artist-match; and she became a paralytic invalid
for years. After her death, tours in Germany and elsewhere, new
works, new troubles, enthusiasms, and disappointments filled up the
remainder of the composer's days. He returned to his beloved
Dauphiné, war-worn and almost as one who has outlived life. In
his provincial retreat he composed the huge operatic duology (The
Trojans at Carthage,' and 'The Taking of Troy,' turning once more
to Virgil, his early literary love. Neither of them is often heard
now, any more than his amazing Benvenuto Cellini. Their author
died in Dauphiné in 1869, weary, disenchanted, but conscious that he
would be greater in the eyes of a coming generation than ever he
had been during his harassed life.
Berlioz's literary remains are valuable as criticisms, and their per-
sonal matter is of brisk and varied charm. His intense feeling for
Shakespeare influenced his whole ästhetic life. He was extremely
well read. His most unchecked tendency to romanticism was bal-
anced by a fine feeling for the classics. He loved the greater Greek
and Latin writers. His Autobiography is a perfect picture of him-
self emotionally, and exhibits his wide æsthetic nature. His Letters
are equally faithful as portraiture. He possessed a distinctively
literary style. He tells us how he fell in love -- twice, thrice; re-
cords the disgraceful cabals and intrigues against his professional
success, and explains how a landscape affected his nerves. He is


## p. 1811 (#615) ###########################################

HECTOR BERLIOZ
1811
excellent reading, apparently without taking much pains to be so.
Vivacity, wit, sincerity, are salient traits. In his volume of musical
essays entitled À Travers Chants) (an untranslatable title which
may be paraphrased Memoirs of Music and Musicians') are supe-
rior appreciations of musicians and interpreters and performances in
opera-house and concert-hall, expressed with grace and taste in the
feuilletonist's best manner. In the Journal des Débats, year by year,
he wrote himself down indisputably among the great French critics;
and he never misused his critical post to make it a lever for his
own advantage. His great treatise on Orchestration is a standard
work not displaced by Gevaert or more recent authorities. He was
not only a musical intelligence of enormous capacity: he offers per-
haps as typical an embodiment of the French artistic temperament
as can be pointed out.
THE ITALIAN RACE AS MUSICIANS AND AUDITORS
From Berlioz's Autobiography
SO
I"
well sung
APPEARS, however, at least I am assured, — that the
Italians do occasionally listen. But at any rate, music to the
Milanese, no less than to the Neapolitans, Romans, Floren-
tines, and Genoese, means nothing but an air, a duet, or a trio,
For anything beyond this they feel simply aversion
or indifference. Perhaps these antipathies are mainly due to the
wretched performance of their choruses and orchestras, which
effectually prevents their knowing anything good outside the
beaten track they have so long followed. Possibly, too, they
may to a certain extent understand the flights of men of genius,
if these latter are careful not to give too rude a shock to their
rooted predilections. The great success of Guillaume Tell’at
Florence supports this opinion, and even Spontini's sublime
Vestale obtained a series of brilliant representations at Naples
some twenty-five years ago. Moreover, in those towns which are
under the Austrian rule, you will see the people rush after a
military band, and listen with avidity to the beautiful German
melodies, so unlike their usual insipid cavatinas. Nevertheless,
in general it is impossible to disguise the fact that the Italians
as a nation really appreciate only the material effects of music,
and distinguish nothing but its exterior forms.
Indeed, I am much inclined to regard them as more inaccess-
ible to the poetical side of art, and to any conceptions at all


## p. 1812 (#616) ###########################################

1812
HECTOR BERLIOZ
above the common, than any other European nation. To the
Italians music is a sensual pleasure, and nothing more. For this
most beautiful form of expression they have scarcely more
respect than for the culinary art. In fact, they like music which
they can take in at first hearing, without reflection or attention,
just as they would do with a plate of macaroni.
Now, we French, mean and contemptible musicians as we
are, although we are no better than the Italians when we furi-
ously applaud a trill or a chromatic scale by the last new singer,
and miss altogether the beauty of some grand recitative or ani-
mated chorus, yet at least we can listen, and if we do not take
in a composer's ideas it is not our fault. Beyond the Alps, on
the contrary, people behave in a manner so humiliating both to
art and to artists, whenever any representation is going on, that
I confess I would as soon sell pepper and spice at a grocer's in
the Rue St. Denis as write an opera for the Italians — nay, I
would sooner do it.
Added to this, they are slaves to routine and to fanaticism to
a degree one hardly sees nowadays, even at the Academy. The
slightest unforeseen innovation, whether in melody, harmony,
rhythm, or instrumentation, puts them into a perfect fury; so
much so, that the dilcttanti of Rome, on the appearance of Ros-
sini's Barbiere di Seviglia' (which is Italian enough in all con-
science), were ready to kill the young maestro for having the
insolence to do anything unlike Paisiello.
But what renders all hope of improvement quite chimerical,
and tempts one to believe that the musical feeling of the Italians
mere necessary result of their organization,- the opinion
both of Gall and Spurzheim,- is their love for all that is dan-
cing, brilliant, glittering, and gay, to the utter neglect of the
various passions by which the characters are animated, and the
confusion of time and place - in a word, of good sense itself.
Their music is always laughing: and if by chance the composer
in the course of the drama permits himself for one moment not
to be absurd, he at once hastens back to his prescribed style, his
melodious roulades and grupetti, his trills and contemptible fri-
volities, either for voice or orchestra; and these, succeeding so
abruptly to something true to life, have an unreal effect, and give
the opera seria all the appearance of a parody or caricature.
I could quote plenty of examples from famous works; but
speaking generally of these artistic questions, is it not from Italy
is a


## p. 1813 (#617) ###########################################

HECTOR BERLIOZ
1813
that we get those stereotyped conventional forms adopted by so
many French composers, resisted by Cherubini and Spontini alone
among the Italians, though rejected entirely by the Germans ?
What well-organized person with any sense of musical expression
could listen to a quartet in which four characters, animated by
totally conflicting passions, should successively employ the same
melodious phrase to express such different words as these: “0, toi
que j'adore ! » "Quelle terreur me glace! ” “Mon cæur bat de
plaisir! ” "La fureur me transporte!