No More Learning

No one dared to tell him; when the Ogress, all enraged to see
what had happened, threw herself head foremost into the tub, and
was instantly devoured by the ugly creatures she had ordered to
be thrown into it for others. The King could not but be very
sorry, for she was his mother; but he soon comforted himself
with his beautiful wife and his pretty children.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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## p. 11346 (#568) ##########################################


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

11347
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## p. 11346 (#570) ##########################################

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

## p. 11356 (#580) ##########################################

11356
ALEXANDER PETÖFI
Where every fettered race, tired with their chains,
Muster their ranks and seek the battle plains,
And with red flushes the red flag unfold,
The sacred signal there inscribed in gold,—
"For the world's liberty! "
And far and wide the summons to be free
Fills east and west, and to the glorious fight
Heroes press forward, battling for the right,—
There will I die!
There drowned in mine own heart's blood lie,
Poured out so willingly; th' expiring voice,
Even in its own extinction shall rejoice.
While the sword's clashing, and the trumpet's sound.
And rifles and artillery thunder round;
Then may the trampling horse
Gallop upon my corse,
When o'er the battle-field the warriors fly.
There let me rest till glorious victory
Shall crown the right; my bones upgathered be
At the sublime interment of the free!
When million voices shout their elegy
Under the unfurled banners waving high;
On the gigantic grave which covers all
The heroes, who for freedom fall,
And welcome death because they die for thee,
All holy world-delivering liberty!
INDIFFERENCE
"WITH
calm indifference good and evil bear: "
So saith the sage, and so the world replies;
But not too wisely-'tis not my device;
Pleasures and pains, my comfort and my care,
Must leave their impress, both of ill and good:
My soul is not a flood
Equally moved, when a sweet infant throws
O'er me a scattered rose,
As when the whirlwind brings
Down from the forest a torn trunk, and flings
It furiously upon my wanderings.
The above translations are all by Sir John Bowring.
|


## p. 11357 (#581) ##########################################

11357
PETRARCH
(1304-1374)
BY J. F. BINGHAM
HE second of the "Great Four" poets of Italy occupied with
his life more than two-thirds of the fourteenth century;
being at once widely influential in its affairs of State, as
well as its leading man of letters, and by far its most illustrious poet.
He was for his first seventeen years a contemporary with the first
and greatest of the four, and like him, by inheritance, of the party
of the Bianchi and an exile from Florence; and affected, though in
a milder measure, by political vicissitudes, which to a large extent
determined, as in the case of his great predecessor, the direction of
his activities and the destiny and happiness of his life.
The times, of which both were in an important sense the product,
were fast changing, and already much changed from those which had
shaped Dante's career. Clement V. in 1305 transferred the seat of
the popes to Avignon. The Empire, the shadow of a great name,
had begun its decline in Italy. It made its last struggles in the chiv-
alrous enterprises of Henry VII. of Luxemburg; failed in 1313 by the
successful resistance of the Florentines; and the coming of Louis of
Bavaria in 1323 did not avail to raise it up. The Guelfs were strong
again by the power of Florence, and of Robert, King of Naples. The
national arms were declining; and the volunteer "companies" (le
compagnie di ventura) were getting a greater footing in Italy-com-
posed at first of foreigners, later also of Italians, affecting and wor-
rying Petrarch to the last degree. They were mercenary bands, to
whom warfare was a trade to live by, and who hired themselves out
to various princes, dukes, etc. ; and many cities by their aid were
setting out to become independent dominions, lordships, marquisates,
dukedoms, etc. The Visconti, victorious over the Torriani, were
coming to the front in Milan; at Verona, the Scaligers, the family of
Este with whom, two hundred years later, the destiny of Tasso is
to be so tragically commingled — were establishing their splendid mar-
quisate at Ferrara. At Florence, the Duke of Athens, attempting to
secure the lordship there, was put down; and with him the nobles
went under, the common people and the merchants came uppermost,
and the supremacy of the Medici was gradually prepared. The
republics of Genoa and Venice contended in bitter warfare, and the
latter rose to supremacy upon the land as well as by sea.
FOR
-


## p. 11358 (#582) ##########################################

11358
PETRARCH
In these troublous times of transition and tumult, though an exile
and wanderer like Dante before him (with less suffering indeed from
external causes), his remarkable personal beauty, his natural bonhomie,
his enormous learning, his vast general knowledge, his intense patri-
otism, and his marvelous industry, brought him to exert an astonish-
ing influence over the great and powerful, and to live in the veneration
and friendship of the noblest and most exalted in the world. He
could count among personal friends several popes; the Correggios,
lords of Parma, the Colonnas of Rome, the Visconti of Milan, the Car-
raras of Padua, the Gonzagas of Mantua; Robert, King of Naples; the
Emperor Charles IV. He was invited in turn by them all, was con-
sulted by them, was employed by them on important matters of State.
He was sent by the nobles and people of Rome to Clement VI.
on the great endeavor to persuade him to remove his residence from
Avignon to Rome. Although this effort was unsuccessful, he after-
ward wrote a letter in Latin to Clement's successor, Urban V. , urging
the same request; and he soon after removed to Rome. In short, his
opportunities in the character of the age, and his own qualifications
in respect of statesmanship, learning, and the poetic gift, were so
extraordinary, and were improved by him with such tireless activity,
that his influence upon his contemporaries in each direction was pro-
digious and unique, and his contemporary reputation almost or quite
unparalleled.
The family of Petrarch came from Incisa nel Valdarno, a little
hamlet some twenty-five miles southeast of Florence; and was of
the gente nuovo (new folk) of Florence. Francesco's father was Master
Petracco or Petraccolo (Peter), son of Garzo, of whom our Petrarch
speaks reverently.
Petracco, whose name the son afterwards Latinized as his own cog-
nomen into Petrarca, was "cancelliere delle riformagione"; an officer
of the law somewhat corresponding to the modern English clerk
of court," but with larger duties.
As a
"Guelfo Bianco" (White
Guelph), or moderate partisan of the Pope, he had been banished in
1302, and had fled for refuge to Arezzo, some thirty-five miles beyond
Incisa in the same direction; and here on the 20th of July, 1304, was
born to him the son Francesco,- it is uncertain whether by Nicco-
losa Sigoli or by Eletta Canigiani, or whether in either case the nup-
tials were ever blessed by the Church. In those days of confusion
there was much irregularity in such matters even among fairly good
people. Francesco passed the first seven years with the mother at
Incisa; afterward he followed the father and the family to Pisa.
Here he began his first studies, which were to tower to such
a marvelous height, under the famous grammarian Convonevole da
Prato; then, so happily for him, living in Pisa. Whether from choice,
or being still too near to Florence for safety, the exiled father and
«<


## p. 11359 (#583) ##########################################

PETRARCH
11359
partisan churchman removed, and established his family, consisting
of the mother and certainly one brother of Francesco, in Avignon in
France, the then home of the wandering popes. Happily again for
Francesco, now between twelve and fifteen years of age, Convonevole
had come into France, and settled at Carpentras, some fifteen miles
northeast of Avignon. Here he was sent by the father to pursue his
studies under his old preceptor. In 1319 he was sent to Montpellier,
to begin the study of jurisprudence, which he afterward carried for-
ward in Bologna. He had never felt any inclination toward legal
science, but was to the highest degree fond of the study of literature.
Absorbed in this, his legal studies naturally suffered. By abstemious
living and denying himself many comforts, he had also acquired a
considerable number of valuable manuscripts of the Greek and Latin
authors, which were rare and costly in that age. His father, how-
ever, was not pleased that for the sake of these classics he should
neglect the legal studies, which were then the principal road to pre-
ferment and wealth: and during a visit to his father in 1325 (as the
poet himself relates in his 'Old Man's Memories'), the father burned
many of these precious books, and only left, through the prayers and
tears of the son, Cicero's 'De Oratore' and the works of Virgil; which
books became, from that moment to his dying day, those which he
loved above all others. After the death of his father, which hap-
pened in 1326 while he was still a student at Bologna, he returned
to make his home at Avignon; and soon entered into the ecclesias-
tical state. Although he was never in any but minor orders, he
obtained during his life many benefices. The indispensable require-
ments of this condition were, the tonsure, the clerical dress, and the
daily recitation of the "Divine office. " His breviary is still preserved
in the library of the Vatican. He continued his favorite studies in
Avignon; solacing himself in a youthful way, he regretfully tells us,
in the gallant and licentious life of that city.
During the first year of his settled residence here occurred the
event which was destined, more than any other through the rest of
his life, to influence his thoughts, his writings, and his happiness.
He himself tells us that on Good Friday, in the year 1327, being in
the church of the convent of St. Claire, in Avignon, he was struck
by the beauty of a young lady near him, younger than himself,
in a green mantle sprinkled with violets, on which her golden hair
fell in plaited tresses. She was distinguished from all others by her
proud and delicate carriage. From this moment was conceived in his
heart an infinite admiration and love for her. He says her name
was Laura, but her family name he never mentions. There has been
much discussion and controversy as to who this lady was, or even
whether she ever had any other reality than the fervid allegorical
idea in the poet's brain. But he tells us that she was ni
teen years


## p. 11360 (#584) ##########################################

11360
PETRARCH
old and had been two years married; and from many allusions of his
own and the words of contemporaries, it seems almost certain that
she was in fact the daughter of Audibert de Noves, and the wife of
Hugues de Sade, and became the mother of fully eleven children.