No More Learning

Theyre
freshe water was also putrifyed and become yelow. They dyd
eate skynnes and pieces of lether which were foulded abowt cer-
teyne great ropes of the shyps. [Thus did the captain-general's
words come true. ] But these skynnes being made verye harde
by reason of the soonne, rayne, and wynde, they hunge them by
a corde in the sea for the space of foure or fiue dayse to mollifie
them, and sodde them, and eate them. By reason of this famen
and vnclene feedynge, summe of theyr gummes grewe so ouer
theyr teethe [a symptom of scurvy], that they dyed miserably
for hunger. And by this occasion dyed xix. men, and
besyde these that dyed, xxv. or. xxx. were so sicke that they
were not able to doo any seruice with theyr handes or arms for
feeblenesse: So that was in maner none without sum disease. In
three monethes and xx. dayes, they sayled foure thousande
leaques in one goulfe by the sayde sea cauled Pacificum (that is)
peaceable, whiche may well bee so cauled forasmuch as in all
this tyme hauyng no syght of any lande, they had no misfortune
of wynde or any other tempest.
So that in fine, if god
of his mercy had not gyuen them good wether, it was necessary
that in this soo greate a sea they shuld all haue dyed for hun-
Whiche neuertheless they escaped soo hardely, that it may
bee doubted whether euer the like viage may be attempted with
so goode successe. "
ger.
One would gladly know-albeit Pigafetta's journal and the
still more laconic pilot's log-book leave us in the dark on this
point-how the ignorant and suffering crews interpreted this
everlasting stretch of sea, vaster, said Maximilian Transylvanus,
"than the human mind could conceive. " To them it may well
have seemed that the theory of a round and limited earth was
·
1


## p. 5792 (#376) ###########################################

5792
JOHN FISKE
wrong after all, and that their infatuated commander was leading
them out into the fathomless abysses of space, with no welcom-
ing shore beyond. But that heart of triple bronze, we may be
sure, did not flinch. The situation had got beyond the point
where mutiny could be suggested as a remedy. The very des-
perateness of it was all in Magellan's favor; for so far away had
they come from the known world that retreat meant certain
death. The only chance of escape lay in pressing forward. At
last, on the 6th of March, they came upon islands inhabited by
savages ignorant of the bow and arrow, but expert in handling
their peculiar light boats. Here the dreadful sufferings were
ended, for they found plenty of fruit and fresh vegetables,
besides meat. The people were such eager and pertinacious
thieves that their islands received the name by which they are
still known, the Islas de Ladrones, or isles of robbers.
On the 16th of March the three ships arrived at the islands
which some years afterward were named Philippines, after Philip
II. of Spain. Though these were islands unvisited by Europeans,
yet Asiatic traders from Siam and Sumatra, as well as from
China, were to be met there, and it was thus not long before
Magellan became aware of the greatness of his triumph. He
had passed the meridian of the Moluccas, and knew that these
islands lay to the southward within an easy sail. He had accom-
plished the circumnavigation of the earth through its unknown
portion, and the remainder of his route lay through seas already
traversed. An erroneous calculation of longitudes confirmed him
in the belief that the Moluccas, as well as the Philippines,
properly belonged to Spain. Meanwhile in these Philippines of
themselves he had discovered a region of no small commercial
importance. But his brief tarry in these interesting islands had
fatal results; and in the very hour of victory the conqueror
perished, slain in a fight with the natives, the reason of which
we can understand only by considering the close complication of
commercial and political interests with religious notions so com-
mon in that age.
As the typical Spaniard or Portuguese was then a persecutor
of heresy at home, so he was always more or less of a missionary
abroad, and the missionary spirit was in his case intimately
allied with the crusading spirit. If the heathen resisted the
gospel, it was quite right to slay and despoil them. Magellan's
nature was devoutly religious, and exhibited itself in the points.


## p. 5793 (#377) ###########################################

JOHN FISKE
5793
of strength and weakness most characteristic of his age. After
he had made a treaty of alliance with the king of the island of
Sebu, in which, among other things, the exclusive privilege of
trading there was reserved to the Spaniards, Magellan made the
unexpected discovery that the king and his people were ready
and even eager to embrace Christianity! They had conceived an
exalted idea of the powers and accomplishments of these white
strangers, and apparently wished to imitate them in all things.
So in less than a week's time a huge bonfire had been made of
the idols, a cross was set up in the market, and all the people
on the island were baptized! Now, the king of Sebu claimed
allegiance from chieftains on neighboring islands, who were slow
to render it; and having adopted the white man's "medicine," he
naturally wished to test its efficacy. What was Christianity good
for, if not to help you to humble your vassals? So the Christian
king of Sebu demanded homage from the pagan king of Matan;
and when the latter potentate scornfully refused, there was a
clear case for a crusade! The steadfast commander, the ally and
protector of his new convert, the peerless navigator, the knight
without fear and without reproach, now turned crusader as
quickly as he had turned missionary. Indeed, there was no
turning. These various aspects of life's work were all one to
him; he would have summed up the whole thing as "serving God
and doing his duty. " So Magellan crossed over to the island
of Matan on the 27th of April, 1521, and was encountered by
the natives in overwhelming force. After a desperate fight the
Spaniards were obliged to retreat to their boats; and their com-
mander, who years before had been the last man to leave a sink-
ing ship, now lingered on the brink of danger, screening his men,
till his helmet was knocked off and his right arm disabled by a
spear thrust.
A sudden blow brought him to the ground; and
then, says the Chevalier Pigafetta, "the Indians threw themselves
upon him with iron-pointed bamboo spears and scimitars, and
every weapon they had, and ran him through-our mirror, our
light, our comforter, our true guide-until they killed him. ”
In these scenes, as so often in life, the grotesque and the
tragic were strangely mixed. The defeat of the white men con-
vinced the king of Sebu that he had overestimated the blessings
of Christianity; and so, by way of atonement for the slight he
had cast upon the gods of his fathers, he invited some thirty of
the leading Spaniards to a banquet and massacred them. Among
X-363


## p. 5794 (#378) ###########################################

5794
JOHN FISKE
the men thus cruelly slain were the faithful captains Barbosa and
Serrano. As the ships sailed hastily away, the natives were seen
chopping down the cross and conducting ceremonies in expiation
of their brief apostasy. The blow was a sad one. Of the 280
men who had sailed out from the Guadalquivir, only 115 re-
mained. At the same time the Concepcion, being adjudged no
longer seaworthy, was dismantled and burned to the water's
edge. The constable Espinosa was elected captain of the Vic-
toria; and the pilot Carvalho was made captain-general, but
proving incompetent, was presently superseded by that Sebastian
Elcano who had been one of the mutineers at Port St. Julian.
When the Trinidad and Victoria, after visiting Borneo, reached
the Moluccas, they found that Francisco Serrano had been mur-
dered by order of the king of Tidor at about the same time that
his friend Magellan had fallen at Matan. The Spaniards spent
some time in these islands, trading. When they were ready to
start, on the 18th of December, the Trinidad sprang a leak. It
was thereupon decided that the Victoria should make for the
Cape of Good Hope without delay, in order not to lose the
favorable east monsoon. The Trinidad was to be thoroughly
repaired, and then take advantage of the reversal of monsoon to
sail for Panama. Apparently it was thought that the easterly
breeze which had wafted them so steadily across the Pacific was
a monsoon and would change like the Indian winds,-a most dis-
astrous error. Of the 101 men still surviving, 54 were assigned
to the Trinidad and 47 to the Victoria. The former ship was
commanded by Espinosa, the latter by Elcano.
When the Trinidad set sail, April 6, 1522, she had the west-
erly monsoon in her favor; but as she worked up into the
northern Pacific she encountered the northeast trade-wind, and
in trying to escape it groped her way up to the fortieth parallel
and beyond. By that time, overcome with famine and scurvy,
she faced about and ran back to the Moluccas. When she
arrived, it was without her mainmast. Of her 54 men, all but 19
had found a watery grave; and now the survivors were seized by
a party of Portuguese, and a new chapter of misery was begun.
Only the captain Espinosa and three of the crew lived to see
Spain again.
Meanwhile on the 16th of May the little Victoria, with starva-
tion and scurvy already thinning the ranks, with foretopmast
gone by the board and fore-yard badly sprung, cleared the Cape


## p. 5795 (#379) ###########################################

JOHN FISKE
5795
of Good Hope, and thence was borne on the strong and friendly
current up to the equator, which she crossed on the 8th of June.
Only fifty years since Santarem and Escobar, first of Europeans,
had crept down that coast and crossed it. Into that glorious
half-century what a world of suffering and achievement had
been crowded! Dire necessity compelled the Victoria to stop at
the Cape Verde Islands. Her people sought safety in deceiving
the Portuguese with the story that they were returning from a
voyage in Atlantic waters only, and thus they succeeded in buy-
ing food.
But while this was going on, as a boat-load of thirteen
men had been sent ashore for rice, some silly tongue, loosened
by wine in the head of a sailor who had cloves to sell, babbled
the perilous secret of Magellan and the Moluccas. The thirteen
were at once arrested, and a boat called upon the Victoria, with
direful threats, to surrender; but she quickly stretched every
inch of her canvas and got away. This was on the 13th of July,
and eight weeks of ocean remained. At last, on the 6th of Sep-
tember-the thirtieth anniversary of the day when Columbus
weighed anchor for Cipango-the Victoria sailed into the Gua-
dalquivir, with eighteen gaunt and haggard survivors to tell the
proud story of the first circumnavigation of the earth.
The voyage thus ended was doubtless the greatest feat of
navigation that has ever been performed, and nothing can be
imagined that would surpass it except a journey to some other
planet. It has not the unique historic position of the first voyage
of Columbus, which brought together two streams of human life
that had been disjoined since the Glacial Period. But as an
achievement in ocean navigation that voyage of Columbus sinks
into insignificance by the side of it; and when the earth was a
second time encompassed by the greatest English sailor of his
age, the advance in knowledge, as well as the different route
chosen, had much reduced the difficulty of the performance.
When we consider the frailness of the ships, the immeasurable
extent of the unknown, the mutinies that were prevented or
quelled, and the hardships that were endured, we can have no
hesitation in speaking of Magellan as the prince of navigators.
Nor can we ever fail to admire the simplicity and purity of that
devoted life, in which there is nothing that seeks to be hidden or
explained away.
It would have been fitting that the proudest crest ever granted
by a sovereign—a terrestrial globe belted with the legend Primus


## p. 5796 (#380) ###########################################

5796
JOHN FISKE
circumdedisti me (Thou first encompassed me) — should have been
bestowed upon the son and representative of the hero; but
when the Victoria returned there was none to receive such recog-
nition. In September 1521, Magellan's son, the little Rodrigo,
died; and by March 1522 the gentle mother Beatriz had heard,
by way of the Portuguese Indies, of the fate of her husband and
her brother. In that same month-"grievously sorrowing," as
we are told-she died. The coat-of-arms with the crest just
mentioned, along with a pension of five hundred ducats, was
granted to Elcano, a weak man who had ill deserved such honor.
Espinosa was also, with more justice, pensioned and ennobled.
$


## p. 5797 (#381) ###########################################

5797
EDWARD FITZGERALD
(1809-1883)
BY NATHAN HASKELL DOLE
DWARD FITZGERALD was the third son of John Purcell, and
Mary Frances Fitzgerald his cousin. He was born March
31st, 1809, at Bredfield House near Suffolk. When the boy
was five years old, Mr. Purcell took his family to France. In Paris
they occupied the house in which Robespierre had once lived. The
following year Mrs. Purcell's father died, and her husband assumed
the name and arms of the Fitzgeralds. Edward frequently referred
to his Irish blood: he called himself "a scatter-brained Paddy! "
In 1821 he was sent to King Edward VI. 's
School at Bury St. Edmunds, where his two
brothers were. He was there five years, and
then went to Trinity College. Fitzgerald
obtained his degree somewhat to his own
surprise, for he had taken his course in a
characteristically comfortable manner; as Mr.
Wright says, amusing himself with music
and drawing and poetry. " After a brief visit
at Paris, he returned to England and began
to carry out the experiment of his semi-
misanthropic retreat from the world; he be-
came a vegetarian: "The great secret of it
all," he said, "is not eating meat! " He
wrote his friend Allen:-"I cannot stand see-
ing new faces in the polite circles. You must know I am going to
become a great bear, and have got all sorts of Utopian ideas into my
head about society. " As he lived, he grew shyer and shyer even with
his friends.
«<
EDWARD FITZGERALD

He went to live near Naseby, where his father had an estate
which included a large part of the celebrated battle-field. It was
there in 1831 that he wrote his earliest known poem; it was printed
in Hone's Year Book, and shortly afterwards in the Athenæum.
The dates of his letters to Frederic Tennyson and other friends
show the pleasant rounds of his residences: now at Southampton,
now in London, where his mother kept up great style, driving her
four horses; now at Geldestone, now at Wherstead Lodge near Ips-
wich, where his parents lived for ten years; then at Boulge Hall,
Woodbridge. At Boulge he lived in a one-story thatched cottage,


## p. 5798 (#382) ###########################################

5798
EDWARD FITZGERALD
just outside his father's park. The Rev. George Crabbe gives this
picture of him: :-
"He used to walk by himself, slowly, with a Skye terrier. I was rather
afraid of him. He seemed a proud and very punctilious man.
. He
seemed to me when I first saw him as he was when he died, only not stoop-
ing: always like a grave middle-aged man; never seemed very happy or
light-hearted, though his conversation was most amusing sometimes. »
In 1847 he contributed a number of notes and illustrations to
Singer's edition of Selden's Table Talk,' but refused to allow his
services to be acknowledged. He also wrote what he calls "a little
dapper memoir" as a preface to the posthumously published 'Poems
and Letters' of Bernard Barton the Quaker, whose daughter he mar-
ried. In 1851 he published anonymously a little volume of less than
a hundred pages, called 'Euphranor. ' Couched in exquisite English,
it appealed to a small but cultured audience. A second edition was
called for, and then the demand for it ceased.
Under the stimulating friendship of the learned Professor E. B.
Cowell, he took up the study of Spanish, and in 1863 published a
translation of Six Dramas from Calderon. ' This was the only book
to which he ever put his name. The same year he was amusing him-
self with poking out some Persian which E. Cowell would inaugurate
[inoculate? ] him with. " He did not agree with Cowell in regard to
the mystical interpretation of the wine-cup and cup-bearer. In 1855
he was "stilting into too Miltonic verse the ingenuous prattle of
Jámí. " "It is an amusement to me," he wrote, "to take what liber-
ties I like with these Persians; who (as I think) are not poets enough
to frighten one from such excursions, and who really do want a
little art to shape them. " Omar Khayyám he considered the best
and most satisfying of them all, but he called his version "very
one-sided;
what I do, comes up as a bubble to the surface
and breaks. "
In 1857 he took up the Agamemnon' of Eschylus and began
to make a very free translation of it, "not for scholars but for those
who are ignorant of Greek. " He had no scruple about adding splen-
did passages to the 'Agamemnon,' such as Eschylus might have
written had he lived in the nineteenth century. In the same way
he raised the poetic level of Omar, as can be seen by reading the
various versions of the 'Rubáiyát. '
Besides the works already mentioned, Fitzgerald made very free
translations or paraphrases of several others of Calderon's metrical
dramas; of the 'Edipus Tyrannus' and 'Edipus Coloneus' of Soph-
ocles; and of masterpieces of two Persian poets-Salámán and
Absál' of Jami, and The Bird-Parliament' or 'Bird-Confab' of Attar.
These, together with a few fragments of verse, original or translated,


## p. 5799 (#383) ###########################################

EDWARD FITZGERALD
5799
form the bulk of the life work of a man who cared nothing for fame;
who on the contrary avoided it with as much solicitude as most am-
bitious men seek to win it.
The critics, not understanding his views, attacked him so severely
for his versions of Calderon that he withdrew the volume from sale;
but he kept on for his own amusement. "He jotted down materials
for a vocabulary of rustic or rural English. " He also made for Notes
and Queries (1870) a similar vocabulary of East-Anglican sea terms.
These were collected with the aid of Captain West, his viking-captain
of a herring-lugger which he built as an experiment in altruism. His
edition of the Rubáiyát' of Omar Khayyám was published anony-
mously by Bernard Quaritch in 1859, after it had lain neglected for
two years in the office of Fraser's Magazine. It was equally neglected
by the public; and the publisher, to whom he made a gift of the
work, exposed the pamphlets for sale at a penny each. They were
gradually picked up, and the germs of the Omar Khayyám cult were
planted. It was almost ten years before a second edition was called
for; in this the number of quatrains was increased from seventy-five
to one hundred and ten. Professor Norton, in a private letter which
we are privileged to quote, says, "Fitzgerald's 'Omar' illustrates the
miracle of trans-substantiation of the bare elements into the very
blood and body of poetry. " Fitzgerald himself said, "A translation
must be a paraphrase to be readable. " In 1864 Fitzgerald bought a
small farm-house on the outskirts of Woodbridge, and enlarged it
into a mansion which he called "Little Grange. " Here this "peace-
able, affectionate, and ultra-modest man," as Carlyle called him, lived
his "innocent, far niente life. " In June 1883 he went to visit his old
friend Mr. Crabbe at Merton Rectory. In the morning he was found
"as if sleeping peacefully, but quite dead. " Mr. Crabbe wrote, "A
very noble character has passed away. " He was buried in the little
churchyard at Boulge, which has since become a shrine of pious pil-
grimage.
He left his friend William Aldis Wright a tin box, which was
found to contain such of his papers and books as he thought might
possibly bear to be published; and Mr. Wright issued them in two
volumes, together with another containing his letters.
Since then, Fitzgerald's fame has been continually growing, and
the world recognizes that he added at least one classic to universal
literature.
головы


## p. 5800 (#384) ###########################################

5800
EDWARD FITZGERALD
CHIVALRY
From Euphranor'
E SAT down in one of those little arbours cut into the Lilac
WⓇ bushes round the Bowling-green; and while Euphranor
and I were quaffing each a glass of Home-brew'd, Lycion
took up the volume of Digby which Euphranor had laid on the
table.
"Ah, Lycion," said Euphranor, putting down his glass, "there
is one would have put you up to a longer and stronger pull than
we have had to-day. "
"Chivalry," said Lycion, glancing carelessly over the leaves.
"Don't you remember "-addressing me- "what an absurd thing
that Eglinton Tournament was? What a complete failure! There
was the Queen of Beauty on her throne - Lady Seymour-
who alone of all the whole affair was not a sham-and the
Heralds, and the Knights in full Armour on their horses — they
had been practicing for months, I believe — but unluckily, at the
very moment of Onset the rain began, and the Knights threw
down their lances and put up their umbrellas. "
-
I laugh'd, and said I remembered something like it had oc-
curr'd, though not to that umbrella-point, which I thought was
a theatrical or Louis Philippe Burlesque on the affair. And I
asked Euphranor "what he had to say in defense of the Tourna
ment ? »
"Nothing at all," he replied. "It was a silly thing, and fit to
be laughed at for the very reason that it was a sham, as Lycion
says. As Digby himself tells us," he went on, taking the Book
and rapidly turning over the leaves-"Here it is" and he
read: -
"The error that leads men to doubt of this first propo-
sition'—that is, you know, that Chivalry is not a thing past,
but, like all things of Beauty, eternal-'the error that leads men
to doubt of this first proposition consists in their supposing that
Tournaments, and steel Panoply, and Coat arms, and Aristocratic
institutions, are essential to Chivalry; whereas these are in fact
only accidental attendants upon it, subject to the influence of
Time, which changes all such things. ""
-
"I suppose," said Lycion, "your man-whatever his name is
—would carry us back to the days of King Arthur and the
Seven Champions- whenever they were that one used to read
-


## p. 5801 (#385) ###########################################

EDWARD FITZGERALD
5801
about when a Child? I thought Don Quixote had put an end to
all that long ago. "
"Well, he at any rate," said Euphranor, "did not depend on
fine Accoutrement for his Chivalry. "
"Nay," said I; "but did he not believe in his rusty armour
perhaps even the pasteboard Visor he fitted to it-as impregnable
as the Cause
>>>
"And some old Barber's bason as the Helmet of Mambrino,"
interposed Lycion-
"And his poor Rocinante not to be surpass'd by the Bavieca
of the Cid-believed in all this, I say, as really as in the Wind-
mills and Wine-skins being the Giants and Sorcerers he was to
annihilate ? »
―――――
"To be sure he did," said Lycion; "but Euphranor's Round-
table men
- many of them great rascals, I believe-knew a real
Dragon or Giant-when they met him- better than Don Qui-
xote. "
"Perhaps, however," said I, who saw Euphranor's colour ris-
ing, "he and Digby would tell us that all such Giants and
Dragons may be taken for Symbols of certain Forms of Evil,
which his Knights went about to encounter and exterminate. ”
"Of course," said Euphranor with an indignant snort, "every
Child knows that: then as now to be met with and put down in
whatsoever shapes they appear as long as Tyranny and Oppres-
sion exist. "
"Till finally extinguisht, as they crop up, by Euphranor and
his Successors," said Lycion.
(
"Does not Carlyle somewhere talk to us of a Chivalry of
Labour'? " said I; "that henceforward not 'Arms and the Man,'
but 'Tools and the Man,' are to furnish the Epic of the world. "
"Oh well, said Lycion, "if the Table-Round' turn into a
Tailor's Board-'Charge, Chester, charge! ' say I-only not
exorbitantly for the Coat you provide for us-which indeed,
like true Knights, I believe you should provide for us gratis. "
"Yes, my dear fellow," said I laughing, "but then You must
not sit idle, smoking your cigar, in the midst of it; but as your
Ancestors led on mail'd troops at Agincourt, so must you put
yourself, shears in hand, at the head of this Host, and become
what Carlyle calls a Captain of Industry,' a Master-tailor,
leading on a host of Journeymen to fresh fields and conquests
new. "


## p. 5802 (#386) ###########################################

5802
EDWARD FITZGERALD
"Besides," said Euphranor, who did not like Carlyle, nor
relish this sudden descent of his hobby, "surely Chivalry will
never want a good Cause to maintain, whether private or public.
As Tennyson says, King Arthur, who was carried away wounded
to the island valley of Avilion, returns to us in the shape of a
'modern Gentleman' who may be challenged, even in these later
days, to no mock Tournament, Lycion, in his Country's defense,
and with something other than the Doctor's shears at his side. "
To this Lycion, however, only turn'd his cigar in his mouth
by way of reply, and look'd somewhat superciliously at his
Antagonist. And I, who had been looking into the leaves of the
Book that Euphranor had left open, said:—
"Here we are as usual, discussing without having yet agreed
on the terms we are using. Euphranor has told us on the word
of his Hero what Chivalry is not: let him read what it is that
we are talking about. "
I then handed him the Book to read to us, while Lycion,
lying down on the grass, with his hat over his eyes, composed
himself to inattention. And Euphranor read:
Here Lycion, who had endured the reading with an occasional
yawn, said he wish'd "those fellows up-stairs would finish their
pool.
»
-
"And see again," continued I, taking the book from Euphra-
nor's hands" after telling us that Chivalry is mainly but another
name for Youth, Digby proceeds to define more particularly what
that is.
So that Lycion, you see," said I, looking up
from the book and tapping on the top of his hat, "is, in virtue
of his eighteen Summers only, a Knight of Nature's own dub-
bing-yes, and here we have a list of the very qualities which
constitute him one of the Order. And all the time he is pre-
tending to be careless, indolent, and worldly, he is really burst-
ing with suppressed Energy, Generosity, and Devotion. "
"I did not try to understand your English any more than
your Greek," said Lycion; "but if I can't help being the very
fine Fellow whom I think you were reading about, why, I want
to know what is the use of writing books about it for my edifi-
cation. "
"O yes, my dear fellow," said I; "it is like giving you an
Inventory of your goods, which else you lose, or even fling away,
in your march to Manhood-which you are so eager to reach.
Only to repent when gotten there; for I see Digby goes on-


## p. 5803 (#387) ###########################################

EDWARD FITZGERALD
5803
'What is termed Entering the World' which Manhood of course
must do'assuming its Principles and Maxims'—which usually
follows' is nothing else but departing into those regions to
which the souls of the Homeric Heroes went sorrowing. '»
"Ah, you remember," said Euphranor, "how Lamb's friend,
looking upon the Eton Boys in their Cricket-field, sighed to
think of so many fine Lads so soon turning into frivolous Mem-
bers of Parliament'! "
“But why 'frivolous'? " said Lycion.
"Ay, why 'frivolous'? " echoed I, "when entering on the
Field where, Euphranor tells us, their Knightly service may be
call'd into action. "
"Perhaps," said Euphranor, "entering before sufficiently
equipp'd for that part of their calling. "
"Well," said Lycion, "the Laws of England determine other-
wise, and that is enough for me, and I suppose for her, what-
ever your ancient or modern pedants say to the contrary. ”
"You mean," said I, "in settling Twenty-one as the Age of
'Discretion,' sufficient to manage not your own affairs only, but
those of the Nation also? »
The hat nodded.
"Not yet, perhaps, accepted for a Parliamentary Knight com-
plete," said I, "so much as Squire to some more experienced if
not more valiant Leader. Only providing that Neoptolemus do
not fall into the hands of a too politic Ulysses, and under him
lose that generous Moral, whose Inventory is otherwise apt to
get lost among the benches of St. Stephen's-in spite of pre-
liminary Prayer. "
"Aristotle's Master, I think," added Euphranor with some
mock gravity, "would not allow any to become Judges in his
Republic till near to middle life, lest acquaintance with Wrong
should harden them into a distrust of Humanity; and acquaint-
ance with Diplomacy is said to be little less dangerous. "
"Though, by the way," interposed I, "was not Plato's Master
accused of perplexing those simple Affections and Impulses of
Youth by his Dialectic, and making premature Sophists of the
Etonians of Athens ? "
"By Aristophanes, you mean," said Euphranor, with no mock
gravity now; "whose gross caricature help'd Anytus and Co. to
that Accusation which ended in the murder of the best and
wisest man of all Antiquity. "


## p. 5804 (#388) ###########################################

5804
EDWARD FITZGERALD
"Well, perhaps," said I, "he had been sufficiently punish'd by
that termagant Wife of his-whom, by the way, he may have
taught to argue with him instead of to obey. Just as that Son
of poor old Strepsiades, in what you call the Aristophanic Cari-
cature, is taught to rebel against parental authority, instead of
doing as he was bidden; as he would himself have the Horses to
do that he was spending so much of his Father's money upon:
and as we would have our own Horses, Dogs, and Children,— and
Young Knights. "
"You have got your Heroes into fine company, Euphranor,"
said Lycion, who, while seeming inattentive to all that went
against him, was quick enough to catch at any turn in his favour.
"Why, let me see," said I, taking up the book again, and
running my eye over the passage—"yes,—'Ardent of desire,' —
'Tractable,'-some of them
some of them at least-'Without comprehending
much'-'Ambitious' — 'Despisers of Riches'—'Warm friends and
hearty Companions' - really very characteristic of the better
breed of Dogs and Horses. And why not? The Horse, you
know, has given his very name to Chivalry, because of his asso-
ciation in the Heroic Enterprises of Men-El mas Hidalgo Bruto,
Calderon calls him. He was sometimes buried, I think, along
with our heroic Ancestors - just as some favourite wife was
buried along with her husband in the East. So the Muse sings
of those who believe their faithful Dog will accompany them to
the World of Spirits-as even some wise and good Christian men
have thought it not impossible he may, not only because of his
Moral, but - »
"Well," said Euphranor, "we need not trouble ourselves about
carrying the question quite so far. "
"Well," said I, "your great Schools might condescend to take
another hint from abroad where some one- Fellenberg again, I
think had a Riding-house in his much poorer School, where
you might learn not only to sit your horse if ever able to pro-
vide one for yourself, but also to saddle, bridle, rub him down,
with the ss'ss-ss'ss which I fancy was heard on the morning of
Agincourt-if, by the way, one horse was left in all the host. "
"Well, come," said Euphranor; "the Gladiator at any rate
is gone- and the Boxer after him—and the Hunter, I think,
going after both; perhaps the very Horse he rides gradually to
be put away by Steam into some Museum among the extinct
Species that Man has no longer room or business for. "
-


## p. 5805 (#389) ###########################################

EDWARD FITZGERALD
5805
"Nevertheless," said I, "war is not gone with the Gladiator,
and cannon and rifle yet leave room for hand-to-hand conflict, as
may one day- which God forbid! come to proof in our own
sea-girt Island. If safe from abroad, some Ruffian may still
assault you in some shady lane nay, in your own parlour — at
home, when you have nothing but your own strong arm, and
ready soul to direct it. Accidents will happen in the best-
regulated families. The House will take fire, the Coach will
break down, the Boat will upset; -is there no gentleman who
can swim, to save himself and others? no one do more to save
the Maid snoring in the garret, than helplessly looking on-or
turning away? Some one is taken ill at midnight; John is drunk
in bed; is there no gentleman can saddle Dobbin-much less
get a Collar over his Head, or the Crupper over his tail, without
such awkwardness as brings on his abdomen the kick he fears,
and spoils him for the journey. And I do maintain," I contin-
ued, "having now gotten the bit between my teeth'-maintain
against all Comers that, independent of any bodily action on their
part, these and the like Accomplishments, as you call them, do
carry with them, and I will say, with the Soul incorporate, that
habitual Instinct of Courage, Resolution, and Decision, which
together with the Good Humour which good animal Condition
goes far to ensure, do, I say, prepare and arm the Man not only
against the greater but against those minor Trials of Life, which
are so far harder to encounter because of perpetually cropping
up; and thus do cause him to radiate, if through a narrow circle,
yet through that imperceptibly to the whole world, a happier
atmosphere about him than could be inspired by Closet-loads of
Poetry, Metaphysic, and Divinity. No doubt there is danger, as
you say, of the Animal overpowering the Rational, as, I main-
tain, equally so of the reverse; no doubt the higher-mettled Colt
will be likeliest to run riot, as may my Lad, inflamed with Aris-
totle's 'Wine of Youth,' into excesses which even the virtuous
Berkeley says are the more curable as lying in the Passions;
whereas, says he, 'the dry Rogue who sets up for Judgment is
incorrigible. ' But, whatever be the result, VIGOUR of Body, as of
Spirit, one must have, subject like all good things to the worst
corruption - Strength itself, even of Evil, being a kind of Virtus
which Time, if not good Counsel, is pretty sure to moderate;
whereas Weakness is the one radical and incurable Evil, increas-
ing with every year of Life. "
―――
-


## p. 5806 (#390) ###########################################

5806
EDWARD FITZGERALD
FREELY TRANSLATED FROM THE
APOLOGUES
MANTIK-UT-TAIR,' OR THE BIRD-
PARLIAMENT,' OF FARÍD-UDDÍN ATTAR
Ο
[Mohammed Ibn Ibrahim Farid u'd Dín (Farid-uddín)— called "Attar," the
Druggist or Perfumer - was born at Kerken, a village of Khorassan near Nai-
shapur, in the year 1216, and died at the age of one hundred and fifteen in
the city of Shad'ach, where he lived for over eighty-five years. His industry
was equal to his longevity: he was an indefatigable collector of biographical
details, which employed in his wonderful series of lives of the Moslem
Saints - the Teskeret-al-Oulia (or (Ewha '). He wrote in prose many ascet-
ical and mystical works. Aside from his rhymed couplets he composed over
forty thousand distichs, including twelve thousand four-line strophes. His best
known work is the 'Mantik-ut-Tair) (Conversations of the Birds, or Bird-Par-
liament), an enormously long work which Edward Fitzgerald condensed into a
few pages; particularly selecting the Apologues or little stories with obvious
morals, such as are cited below. ]
THE FORTUNE OF THE GREAT
NE day Shah Mahmúd, riding with the Wind
A-hunting, left his Retinue behind,
And coming to a River, whose swift Course
Doubled back Game and Dog, and Man and Horse,
Beheld upon the Shore a little Lad
-
A-fishing, very poor, and Tatter-clad
He was, and weeping as his Heart would break.
So the Great Sultan, for good-humour's sake,
Pull'd in his Horse a moment, and drew nigh,
And after making his Salám, ask'd why
He wept
weeping, the Sultan said, so sore
As he had never seen one weep before.
The Boy look'd up, and "O Amír," he said,
"Sev'n of us are at home, and Father dead,
And Mother left with scarce a Bit of Bread:
And now since Sunrise have I fish'd- and see!
Caught nothing for our Supper-Woe is Me! "
The Sultan lighted from his Horse.
"Behold,"
Said he, "Good Fortune will not be controll'd:
And, since To-day yours seems to turn from you,
Suppose we try for once what mine will do,
And we will share alike in all I win. "
So the Shah took, and flung his Fortune in,


## p. 5807 (#391) ###########################################

EDWARD FITZGERALD
5807
The Net; which, cast by the Great Mahmúd's Hand,
A hundred glittering Fishes brought to Land.
The Lad look'd up in Wonder — Mahmúd smiled
And vaulted into Saddle. But the Child
Ran after "Nay, Amír, but half the Haul
Is yours by Bargain "-"Nay, To-day take all,"
The Sultan cried, and shook his Bridle free-
"But mind-To-morrow All belongs to Me-"
And so rode off. Next morning at Divan
The Sultan's Mind upon his Bargain ran,
And being somewhat in a mind for sport
Sent for the Lad: who, carried up to Court,
And marching into Royalty's full Blaze
With such a Catch of Fish as yesterday's,
The Sultan call'd and set him by his side,
And asking him, "What Luck? " The Boy replied,
"This is the Luck that follows every Cast,
Since o'er my Net the Sultan's Shadow pass’d. »
-
THE MISER
A FELLOW all his life lived hoarding Gold,
And, dying, hoarded left it. And behold,
One Night his Son saw peering through the House
A Man, with yet the semblance of a Mouse,
Watching a crevice in the Wall-and cried-
"My Father? "-"Yes," the Musulman replied,
>>
"Thy Father! "But why watching thus ? "- "For fear
Lest any smell my Treasure buried here. ”—
"But wherefore, Sir, so metamousified? ».
"Because, my Son, such is the true outside
Of the inner Soul by which I lived and died. "
THE DREAD
A CERTAIN Shah there was in Days foregone
Who had a lovely Slave he doated on,
And cherish'd as the Apple of his Eye,
Clad gloriously, fed sumptuously, set high,
And never was at Ease were He not by,
Who yet, for all this Sunshine, Day by Day
Was seen to wither like a Flower away.
Which, when observing, one without the Veil
Of Favour ask'd the Favourite . ་
"Why so pale
1


## p. 5808 (#392) ###########################################

5808
EDWARD FITZGERALD
And sad ? " Thus sadly answer'd the poor Thing-
"No Sun that rises sets until the King,
Whose Archery is famous among Men,
Aims at an Apple on my Head; and when
The stricken Apple splits, and those who stand
Around cry 'Lo! the Shah's unerring Hand! '
Then He too laughing asks me Why so pale
And sorrow-some? as could the Sultan fail,
Who such a master of the Bow confest,
And aiming by the Head that he loves best. '»
THE PROOF
A SHAH returning to his Capital,
His subjects drest it forth in Festival,
Thronging with Acclamation Square and Street,
And kneeling flung before his Horse's feet
Jewel and Gold. All which with scarce an Eye
The Sultan superciliously rode by:
Till coming to the public Prison, They
Who dwelt within those grisly Walls, by way
Of Welcome, having neither Pearl nor Gold,
Over the wall chopt Head and Carcase roll'd,
Some almost parcht to Mummy with the Sun,
Some wet with Execution that day done.
At which grim Compliment at last the Shah
Drew Bridle: and amid a wild Hurrah
Of savage Recognition, smiling threw
Silver and Gold among the wretched Crew,
And so rode forward. Whereat of his Train
One wondering that, while others sued in vain
With costly gifts, which carelessly he passed,
But smiled at ghastly Welcome like the last;
The Shah made answer-"All that Pearl and Gold
Of ostentatious Welcome only told:
A little with great Clamour from the Store
Of Hypocrites who kept at home much more.
But when those sever'd Heads and Trunks I saw-
Save by strict Execution of my Law
They had not parted company; not one
But told my Will not talk'd about, but done. »
-


## p. 5809 (#393) ###########################################

EDWARD FITZGERALD
5809
COMPULSORY REPENTANCE
JUST as another Holy Spirit fled,
The Skies above him burst into a Bed
Of Angels looking down and singing clear,
"Nightingale! Nightingale! thy Rose is here! »
And yet, the Door wide open to that Bliss,
As some hot Lover slights a scanty Kiss,
The Saint cried "All I sigh'd for come to this?
I who life-long have struggled, Lord, to be
Not thy Angels one, but one with Thee! "
Others were sure that all he said was true:
They were extremely wicked, that they knew:
And much they long'd to go at once-but some,
They said, so unexpectedly had come
Leaving their Nests half-built-in bad Repair -
With Children in-Themselves about to pair-
"Might he not choose a better Season-nay,
Better perhaps a Year or Two's Delay,
Till all was settled, and themselves more stout
And strong to carry their Repentance out —
And then »
-
"And then, the same or like Excuse,
With harden'd Heart and Resolution loose
With dallying and old Age itself engaged
Still to shirk that which shirking we have aged;
And so with Self-delusion, till, too late,
Death upon all Repentance shuts the Gate;
Or some fierce blow compels the Way to choose,
And forced Repentance half its Virtue lose. "
As of an aged Indian King they tell
Who, when his Empire with his Army fell
Under young Mahmúd's Sword of Wrath, was sent
At sunset to the Conqueror in his Tent;
But, ere the old King's silver head could reach
The Ground, was lifted up-with kindly Speech,
And with so holy Mercy re-assured,
That, after due Persuasion, he abjured
His Idols, sate upon Mahmúd's Divan,
And took the Name and Faith of Musulman.
But when the Night fell, in his Tent alone
The poor old King was heard to weep and groan
X-364


## p. 5810 (#394) ###########################################

5810
EDWARD FITZGERALD
And smite his Bosom; which when Mahmúd knew,
He went to him and said "Lo, if Thou rue
Thy lost Dominion, Thou shalt wear the Ring
Of thrice as large a Realm. " But the dark King
Still wept, and Ashes on his Forehead threw,
And cried, "Not for my Kingdom lost I rue;
But thinking how at the Last Day, will stand
The Prophet with The Volume in his Hand,
And ask of me 'How was't that, in thy Day
Of Glory, Thou didst turn from Me and slay
My People; but soon as thy Infidel
Before my True Believers' Army fell
Like Corn before the Reaper-thou didst own
His Sword who scoutedst Me? Of seed so sown
What profitable Harvest should be grown? "
CLOGS TO THE SOUL
"BEHOLD, dropt through the Gate of Mortal Birth,
The Knightly Soul alights from Heav'n on Earth;
Begins his Race, but scarce the Saddle feels,
When a foul Imp up from the distance steals,
And, double as he will, about his Heels
Closer and ever closer circling creeps,
Then, half-invited, on the Saddle leaps,
Clings round the Rider, and, once there, in vain
The strongest strives to thrust him off again.
In Childhood just peeps up the Blade of Ill,
That youth to Lust rears, Fury, and Self-will:
And, as Man cools to sensual Desire,
Ambition catches with as fierce a Fire;
Until Old Age sends him with one last Lust
Of Gold, to keep it where he found-in Dust.
Life at both Ends so feeble and constrain'd,
How should that Imp of Sin be slain or chain'd?
"For should the Greyhound whom a Sultan fed,
And by a jewell'd String a-hunting led,
Turn by the Way to gnaw some nasty Thing
And snarl at Him who twitch'd the silken String,
Would not his Lord soon weary of Dispute,
And turn adrift the incorrigible Brute?
"Nay, would one follow, and without a Chain,
The only Master truly worth the Pain,


## p. 5811 (#395) ###########################################

EDWARD FITZGERALD
5811
One must beware lest, growing over-fond
Of even Life's more consecrated Bond,
We clog our Footsteps to the World beyond. "
MORTALITY
ONE day the Prophet on a River Bank,
Dipping his Lips into the Channel, drank
A Draught as sweet as Honey. Then there came
One who an earthen Pitcher from the same
Drew up, and drank: and after some short stay
Under the Shadow, rose and went his Way,
Leaving his earthen Bowl. In which, anew
Thirsting, the Prophet from the River drew,
And drank from: but the Water that came up
Sweet from the Stream, drank bitter from the Cup.
At which the Prophet in a still Surprise
For Answer turning up to Heav'n his Eyes,
The Vessel's Earthen Lips with Answer ran
"The Clay that I am made of once was Man,
Who dying, and resolved into the same
Obliterated Earth from which he came
Was for the Potter dug, and chased in turn
Through long Vicissitude of Bowl and Urn:
But howsoever moulded, still the Pain
-
Of that first mortal Anguish would retain,
And cast, and re-cast, for a Thousand years
Would turn the sweetest Water into Tears. "
THE WELCOME
ONE night Shah Mahmúd, who had been of late
Somewhat distempered with Affairs of State,
Stroll'd through the Streets disguised, as wont to do-
And coming to the Baths, there on the Flue
Saw the poor Fellow who the Furnace fed
Sitting beside his Water-jug and Bread.
Mahmud stept in-sat down-unask'd took up
And tasted of the untasted Loaf and Cup,
Saying within himself, "Grudge but a bit,
And, by the Lord, your Head shall pay for it! "
So having rested, warm'd and satisfied
Himself without a Word on either side,
-
1


## p. 5812 (#396) ###########################################

5812
EDWARD FITZGERALD
At last the wayward Sultan rose to go.
And then at last his Host broke silence - "So? —
Art satisfied? Well, Brother, any Day
Or Night, remember, when you come this Way
And want a bit of Provender- why, you
Are welcome, and if not-why, welcome too. ".
The Sultan was so tickled with the whim
Of this quaint Entertainment and of him
Who offer'd it, that many a Night again
Stoker and Shah forgather'd in that vein
Till, the poor Fellow having stood the Test
Of true Good-fellowship, Mahmúd confess'd
One Night the Sultan that had been his Guest:
And in requital of the scanty Dole
The Poor Man offer'd with so large a soul,
Bid him ask any Largess that he would-
A Throne - if he would have it, so he should.
The Poor Man kiss'd the Dust, and "All," said he,
"I ask is what and where I am to be;
If but the Shah from time to time will come
As now, and see me in the lowly Home
His presence makes a Palace, and my own
Poor Flue more royal than another's Throne. »
-
CHRONOMOROS
IN ALL the actions that a Man performs, some part of his life passeth.
We die with doing that, for which only our sliding life was granted. Nay,
though we do nothing, Time keeps his constant pace, and flies as fast in
idlenesse, as in employment. Whether we play, or labour, or sleep, or dance, or
study, The Sunne posteth, and the Sand runnes.
OWEN FELLTHAM.
WEAR
EARIED with hearing folks cry,
That Time would incessantly fly,
Said I to myself, "I don't see
Why Time should not wait upon me;
I will not be carried away,
Whether I like it, or nay:'
: »
-
But ere I go on with my strain,
Pray turn me that hour-glass again!
I said, "I will read, and will write,
And labour all day, and all night,
And Time will so heavily load,
That he cannot but wait on the road;"
-


## p. 5813 (#397) ###########################################

EDWARD FITZGERALD
5813
But I found that, balloon-like in size,
The more fill'd, the faster he flies;
And I could not the trial maintain,
Without turning the hour-glass again!
Then said I, "If Time has so flown
When laden, I'll leave him alone;
And I think that he cannot but stay,
When he's nothing to carry away! "
So I sat, folding my hands,
Watching the mystical sands,
As they fell, grain after grain,
Till I turn'd up the hour-glass again!
Then I cried in a rage, «Time shall stand! »
The hour-glass I smash'd with my hand,
My watch into atoms I broke
And the sun-dial hid with a cloak!
"Now," I shouted aloud, "Time is done! "
When suddenly, down went the Sun;
And I found to my cost and my pain,
I might buy a new hour-glass again!
Whether we wake, or we sleep,
Whether we carol, or weep,
The Sun, with his Planets in chime,
Marketh the going of Time;
But Time, in a still better trim,
Marketh the going of him:
One link in an infinite chain,
Is this turning the hour-glass again!
The robes of the Day and the Night,
Are not wove of mere darkness and light;
We read that, at Joshua's will,
The Sun for a Time once stood still!
So that Time by his measure to try,
Is Petitio Principii!
Time's Scythe is going amain,
Though he turn not his hour-glass again!
And yet, after all, what is Time?
Renowned in Reason, and Rhyme,
A Phantom, a Name, a Notion,
That measures Duration or Motion?


## p. 5814 (#398) ###########################################

5814
EDWARD FITZGERALD
Or but an apt term in the lease
Of Beings, who know they must cease?
The hand utters more than the brain,
When turning the hour-glass again!
The King in a carriage may ride,
And the Beggar may crawl at his side;
But, in the general race,
They are travelling all the same pace,
And houses, and trees, and highway,
Are in the same gallop as they:
We mark our steps in the train,
When turning the hour-glass again!
People complain, with a sigh,
How terribly Chroniclers lie;
But there is one pretty right,
Heard in the dead of the night,
Calling aloud to the people,
Out of St. Dunstan's Steeple,
Telling them under the vane,
To turn their hour-glasses again!
MORAL
Masters! we live here for ever,
Like so many fish in a river;
We may mope, tumble, or glide,
And eat one another beside;
But whithersoever we go,
The River will flow, flow, flow!
And now, that I've ended my strain,
Pray turn me that hour-glass again!


## p. 5814 (#399) ###########################################



## p. 5814 (#400) ###########################################


GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
35


## p. 5814 (#401) ###########################################

1″
1


## p. 5814 (#402) ###########################################

A


## p. 5815 (#403) ###########################################

5815
GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
(1821-1880)
BY PAUL BOURGET
FANCY that when 'Madame Bovary' appeared in 1856, even
the most alert of French critics, like Sainte-Beuve or J. J.
Weiss, would have been thoroughly astonished if some one
had said to him:-"Do not deceive yourself; this novel of passion,
which ever body is reading and which has suddenly made its author
the fashion; this picture of morals, so boldly brushed that it dis-
quiets the governing powers and summons the painter before the
censors of morals; this study of style, so brilliantly executed that
the most determined revolutionists marvel at it,-in forty years will
have become part of the classical tradition of France. Among all
the names of the century, that of Gustave Flaubert will be linked
with that of Courier alone, in the list of the prose writers of the
great Latin line after La Bruyère, Pascal, and Montesquieu. This
little book is not an accident. It is an event, and its author is the
master whom hundreds of other artists in France and abroad will
follow; the man, perhaps, whose ideas will modify most deeply the
æsthetics of the century. " Yes, I can see Sainte-Beuve smile at this
prophecy, although his valiant essay in the 'Lundis' shows how
deeply he was impressed by Flaubert's début. I see witty Weiss
shrug his shoulders, although his criticism written at that time shows
a stirring of extreme curiosity concerning the new-comer. It is not
given to any one to construct the orbit of contemporary works, or to
foresee their place with posterity. In certain books and in certain
kinds of genius there inheres a hidden force, a latent virtue, which
does not at once develop. In the case of Flaubert, for example, we
hardly yet see clearly all that he put in his novels, which in reality
he himself did not quite comprehend. For if an artist's contempo-
raries cannot measure him with exactness, neither can he measure
himself. Would it not have amazed Voltaire to learn that he would
live only through 'Candide,' and Diderot that his work would reduce
itself to the Neveu de Rameau,' two pamphlets scribbled in a few
days, the second not even published by its author?
-
I
In seeking to discover why a book or a writer grows greater as the
years pass, instead of dwindling away with the first successes, one
finds that this book and this writer strikingly disclose a moral unity.


## p. 5816 (#404) ###########################################

5816
GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
Nothing that is not typical endures in human memory. The posthu-
mous fame and the influence of Flaubert confirm this great law of
literary history. Few writers have more deeply impressed this moral
unity upon more diverse works. From that youthful day when he
read to his friend Maxime Du Camp his great unpublished novel
'Novembre,' to the eve of his death, when he traced the last lines of
'Bouvard and Pécuchet,' he developed without pause or modification
one changeless system and expressed one changeless conclusion con-
cerning human life. One metaphysical conviction lightens the pages
of his youth and those of his approaching age, as the same sun irradi-
ates morning and evening of the same day with universal light. This
doctrine, born with Flaubert, as I shall try to show, is the old doc-
trine of pessimism, but of a verified, studied-out, hopeless pessimism,
as atomically established as that of Schopenhauer in Germany and of
old Heraclitus in Greece. From the point of view of the novelist, as
from that of the two philosophers, the evil of life does not arise from
circumstances, but is inherent in the very fact of humanity. Whether
barbarian or civilized, whether belonging to the antique world or to
modern society, to an age of faith or to an epoch of skepticism,
whether artist or artisan, simple or complex, the human being lives
to see the failure of his ambition, be it noble or base, narrow or
boundless. The mocking hand of Fate seems to have written a nega-
tive sign before the colossal sum of human efforts, and the total
always shows a loss; the greatness of these efforts augmenting the
greatness of the predetermined ruin. Such is the idea permeating
from end to end all the books composed by this admirable artist, the
thesis he struggled to demonstrate by examples not far-fetched and
abstract, but concrete and living, and of such extraordinary intensity
that the series of six volumes really constitutes the most absolute,
the most uncompromising manual of nihilism ever composed.
To comprehend the doctrine back of the accident and the theory
behind the fact, one must consider the chief characters of these books
successively. By a process quite opposed to that of authors who are
simply misanthropic, Flaubert does not make the final miseries of
his characters result from their faults, but from their qualities. At
the same time he is careful to select ordinary and not exceptional
types, and to surround them with ordinary circumstances.
Thus con-
stituted, they cease to be individual and become representative, and
their symbolic failure becomes the failure of their whole class. Take
as examples Madame Bovary in the novel of that name, and Frédé-
ric Moreau in 'L'Éducation Sentimentale. ' Both are results of the
legitimate and indeed very noble effort which pushes the lower
classes toward culture and refinement. Emma Bovary is the daugh-
ter of a farmer who wished her to become a "lady," and Frédéric is


## p. 5817 (#405) ###########################################

GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
5817
He
the son of a middle-class father who has resolved that his boy shall
have a "liberal" profession. She has been sent to a convent.
has been put in school. In their class of society this is the accepted
educational process, ninety-nine times out of a hundred. Both pupils
respond to the instruction they receive. Ah, well! if the first de-
scends, step by step, the ladder which leads to vice, to crime, to
suicide, it is simply because, played upon by the religious and poeti-
cal emotions of the convent which was so long her home, she has
formed too exquisite, too complex, too sequestered a dream of exist-
ence, and has felt too acutely the meagreness of her environment.
She is perverted by the noblest characteristics of her nature; and in
that experience she resembles the sentimental Frédéric, her brother
in delicacy as in weakness. If the man of society, young, rich, intel-
ligent, spoils his hours one by one, as a child who cannot draw,
uncleanly and foolishly spoils his sheets of fair white paper, he does
so because he has surrendered himself too freely to the charm of the
books and dreams which enchanted his youth, and has longed too
eagerly for higher emotions, for romantic affections, and glorious
adventures.
Again, if the two grotesque protagonists of 'Bouvard et Pécuchet'
make the most imbecile use of their late-coming independence, of
their will and energy, it is because the hearts of these bureau clerks
suddenly released from servitude beat with the noblest zeal for the
Ideal,-in that form, however, "which deceives the least; that is,
science" and do not say that singleness of heart is lacking in these
more than in the others.
Again, it is the romantic novelist who wrote the story of Un
Cœur Simple,' the pathetically foolish adventure of an old maid who
adores with religious fervor a stuffed paroquet. And again, do not
that the decadence of contemporary society is responsible for
these failures. Would it have been better for these men and women
to take root in the soil of a world still new, and to share the heroic
youth of civilization? The sinister brutality, staining red the land-
scapes of Salammbô,' answers the question. Matthô, like Frédéric,
like the daughter of Hamilcar, like the child of Farmer Ronault,
struggles painfully in the heavy nightmare of existence; the gloomy
frenzy of the savage has no more appreciable result than the shrink-
ing trepidation of the civilized man. Nor will it suffice to say that
these civilized folk and these barbarians were alike wanting in that
great supernatural strength, faith. St. Anthony the hermit of the
Thebaid, after years of maceration, cries, like Emma, like Frédéric,
"Of old I was not so wretched! "* The depth of his penitence has
but intensified his power to feel and suffer.