No More Learning

Peleus and Kadmos are counted of that company; and the
mother of Achilles, when her prayer had moved the heart of
Zeus, bare thither her son, even him who overthrew Hector,
Troy's unbending invincible pillar, even him who gave Kyknos
to death, and the Ethiop son of the Morning.
Many swift arrows have I beneath my bended arm within my
quiver; arrows that have a voice for the wise, but for the multi-
tude they need interpreters. His art is true who of his nature
hath knowledge; they who have but learnt, strong in the multi-
tude of words, are but as crows that chatter vain things in strife
against the divine bird of Zeus.
Come, bend thy bow on the mark, O my soul! -at whom
again are we to launch our shafts of honor from a friendly mind?
At Akragas will I take aim, and will proclaim and swear it with
a mind of truth, that for a hundred years no city hath brought
forth a man of mind more prone to well-doing towards friends,
or of more liberal mood, than Theron.
Yet praise is overtaken of distaste, wherewith is no justice;
but from covetous men it cometh, and is fain to babble against
and darken the good man's noble deeds.
The sea-sand none hath numbered; and the joys that Theron
hath given to others- who shall declare the tale thereof ?


## p. 11497 (#111) ##########################################

PINDAR
11497
THIRD OLYMPIAN ODE
FOR THERON OF AKRAGAS, WINNER OF THE CHARIOT RACE
It was sung
[This ode celebrates the same victory as the preceding one.
at the feast of the Theoxenia, given by Theron in the name of Kastor and
Polydeukes to the other gods. The clan of the Emmenidai, to which Theron
belonged, was especially devoted to the worship of the Twins. ]
TY
YNDAREUS'S hospitable sons and lovely-haired Helen shall I
please assuredly, in doing honor to renowned Akragas by a
hymn upraised for Theron's Olympian crown; for hereunto
hath the Muse been present with me that I should find out a
fair new device, fitting to feet that move in Dorian time the
Komos-voices' splendid strain.
For crowns entwined about his hair demand from me this
god-appointed debt, that for Ainesidamos's son I join in seemly
sort the lyre of various tones with the flute's cry and ordering
of words.
And Pisa bids me speak aloud; for from her come to men
songs of divine assignment, when the just judge of games, the
Aitolian man, fulfilling Herakles's behests of old, hath laid upon
one's hair above his brows pale-gleaming glory of olive.
That tree from Ister's shadowy springs did the son of Am-
phitryon bear, to be a memorial most glorious of Olympian tri-
umphs, when that by his words he had won the Hyperborean
folk, who serve Apollo. In loyal temper he besought for the
precinct of Zeus, whereto all men go up, a plant that should be
a shadow of all folk in common, and withal a crown for valorous
deeds.
For already, when the altars had been sanctified to his sire,
the midmonth Moon, riding her golden car, lit full the counter-
flame of the eye of Even, and just judgment of great games did
he ordain, and the fifth year's feast beside the holy steeps of
Alpheos.
But no fair trees were nursed upon that place in Kronian
Pelops's glens; whereof being naked, his garden seemed to him
to be given over to the keen rays of the sun.
Then was it that his soul stirred to urge him into the land
of Ister; where Leto's horse-loving daughter received him erst,
when he was come from the ridged hills and winding dells of
Arcady, what time his father laid constraint upon him to go
at Eurystheus's bidding, to fetch the golden-hornèd hind which


## p. 11498 (#112) ##########################################

11498
PINDAR
once Taygete vowed to her of Orthion, and made a sign thereon
of consecration. For in that chase he saw also the land that
lieth behind the blast of the cold North-wind: there he halted
and marveled at the trees; and sweet desire thereof possessed
him that he might plant them at the end of the course which
the race-horses should run twelve times round.
So now to this feast cometh he in good-will in company with
the Twins Divine, deep-girdled children. For to them he gave
charge when he ascended into Olympus to order the spectacle of
the games, both the struggle of man with man, and the driving
of the nimble car.
Me anywise my soul stirreth to declare, that to the Emmeni-
dai and to Theron hath glory come by gift of the Tyndaridai of
goodly steeds, for that beyond all mortals they do honor to them
with tables of hospitality, keeping with pious spirit the rite of
blessed gods.
Now if Water be the Best, and of possessions Gold be the
most precious, so now to the furthest bound doth Theron by his
fair deeds attain, and from his own home touch the pillars of
Herakles. Pathless the things beyond, pathless alike to the un-
wise and the wise. Here I will search no more; the quest were
vain.
SEVENTH OLYMPIAN ODE
FOR DIAGORAS OF RHODES, WINNER IN THE BOXING-MATCH
[Diagoras of Rhodes, most famous of great boxers, won the victory here
celebrated in 404 B. C.
Rhodes is said to have been colonized at the time of the Dorian migra-
tions, by Argive Dorians from Epidauros, who were Herakleidai of the family
of Tlepolemos. They founded a confederacy of three cities,- Kameiros, Lin-
dos, and Ialysos. Ialysos was then ruled by the dynasty of the Eratidai.
Their kingly power had now been extinct two hundred years, but the family
was still pre-eminent in the State. Of this family was Diagoras, and probably
the ode was sung at a family festival; but it commemorates the glories of the
island generally. The Rhodians caused it to be engraved in letters of gold in
the temple of Athene at Lindos. ]
Α
S WHEN from a wealthy hand one lifting a cup, made glad
within with the dew of the vine, maketh gift thereof to a
youth, his daughter's spouse, a largess of the feast from
home to home, an all-golden choicest treasure, that the banquet


## p. 11499 (#113) ##########################################

PINDAR
11499
may have grace, and that he may glorify his kin; and therewith
he maketh him envied in the eyes of the friends around him for
a wedlock wherein hearts are wedded,—
So also I, my liquid nectar sending, the Muses' gift, the sweet
fruit of my soul, to men that are winners in the games at Pytho
or Olympia make holy offering. Happy is he whom good report
encompasseth; now on one man, now on another doth the Grace
that quickeneth look favorably, and tune for him the lyre and
the pipe's stops of music manifold.
Thus to the sound of the twain am I come with Diagoras
sailing home to sing the sea-girt Rhodes, child of Aphrodite and
bride of Helios, that to a mighty and fair-fighting man, who by
Alpheos's stream and by Kastalia's hath won him crowns, I may
for his boxing make award of glory, and to his father Demegetos
in whom Justice hath her delight, dwellers in the isle of three
cities with an Argive host, nigh to a promontory of spacious
Asia.
Fain would I truly tell from the beginning from Tlepolemos
the message of my word, the common right of this puissant seed
of Herakles. For on the father's side they claim from Zeus, and
on the mother's from Astydameia, sons of Amyntor.
Now round the minds of men hang follies unnumbered: this
is the unachievable thing, to find what shall be best hap for
a man both presently and also at the last. Yea, for the very
founder of this country once on a time struck with his staff of
tough wild-olive-wood Alkmene's bastard brother Likymnios, in
Tiryns, as he came forth from Midea's chamber, and slew him.
in the kindling of his wrath. So even the wise man's feet are
turned astray by tumult of the soul.
Then he came to inquire of the oracle of God. And he of
the golden hair, from his sweet-incensed shrine, spake unto him
of a sailing of ships that should be from the shore of Lerna
unto a pasture ringed with sea, where sometime the great king
of gods rained on the city golden snow, what time by Hephais-
tos's handicraft, beneath the bronze-wrought axe, from the crown
of her father's head Athene leapt to light, and cried aloud with
an exceeding cry; and Heaven trembled at her coming, and
Earth, the Mother.
Then also the god who giveth light to men, Hyperion, bade
his beloved sons see that they guard the payment of the debt,
that they should build first for the goddess an altar in the sight


## p. 11500 (#114) ##########################################

PINDAR
11500
of all men, and laying thereon a holy offering they should make
glad the hearts of the father, and of his daughter of the sound-
ing spear.
Now Reverence, Forethought's child, putteth valor
and the joy of battle into the hearts of men; yet withal there
cometh upon them bafflingly the cloud of forgetfulness, and
maketh the mind to swerve from the straight path of action.
For they, though they had brands burning, yet kindled not the
seed of flame, but with fireless rites they made a grove on the
hill of the citadel. For them Zeus brought a yellow cloud into
the sky, and rained much gold upon the land; and Glaukopis
herself gave them to excel the dwellers upon earth in every art
of handicraft. For on their roads ran the semblances of beasts
and creeping things, whereof they have great glory; for to him
that hath knowledge the subtlety that is without deceit is the
greater altogether.
Now the ancient story of men saith that when Zeus and the
other gods made division of the earth among them, not yet was
island Rhodes apparent in the open sea, but in the briny depths
lay hid. And for that Helios was otherwhere, none drew a lot for
him; so they left him portionless of land, that holy god.
when he spake thereof Zeus would cast lots afresh; but he suf-
fered him not, for that he said that beneath the hoary sea he
certain land waxing from its root in earth, that should
bring forth food for many men, and rejoice in flocks. And
straightway he bade her of the golden fillet, Lachesis, to stretch
her hands on high, nor violate the gods' great oath, but with the
son of Kronos promise him that the isle sent up to the light of
heaven should be thenceforth a title of himself alone.
saw
And in the end of the matter his speech had fulfillment: there
sprang up from the watery main an island, and the father who
begetteth the keen rays of day hath the dominion thereof, even
the lord of fire-breathing steeds. There sometime, having lain
with Rhodes, he begat seven sons, who had of him minds wiser
than any among the men of old; and one begat Kameiros, and
Ialysos his eldest, and Lindos: and they held each apart their
shares of cities, making threefold division of their Father's land,
and these men call their dwelling-places. There is a sweet
amends for his piteous ill-hap ordained for Tlepolemos, leader of
the Tirynthians at the beginning, as for a god, even the leading
thither of sheep for a savory burnt-offering, and the award of
honor in games.


## p. 11501 (#115) ##########################################

PINDAR
11501
Of garlands from these games hath Diagoras twice won him
crowns, and four times he had good luck at famous Isthmos, and
twice following at Nemea, and twice at rocky Athens. And at
Argos the bronze shield knoweth him, and the deeds of Arca-
dia and of Thebes and the yearly games Boeotian, and Pellene
and Aigina, where six times he won; and the pillar of stone at
Megara hath the same tale to tell.
But do thou, O Father Zeus, who holdest sway on the mount-
ain ridges of Atabyrios, glorify the accustomed Olympian win-
ner's hymn, and the man who hath done valiantly with his fists:
give him honor at the hands of citizens and of strangers; for
he walketh in the straight way that abhorreth insolence, having
learnt well the lessons his true soul hath taught him, which hath
come to him from his noble sires. Darken not thou the light
of one who springeth from the same stock of Kallianax. Surely
with the joys of Eratidai the whole city maketh mirth. But the
varying breezes even at the same point of time speed each upon
their various ways.
FIRST PYTHIAN ODE
GOLDEN
Apollo's, dark-haired Muses' joint heirloom,
Alert for whom
The dancer's footstep listens, and the choir
Of singers wait the sound,
Beginning of the round
Of festal joy, whene'er thy quivering strings
Strike up a prelude to their carolings:
Thou slakest the lancèd bolt of quenchless fire;
Yea, drooped each wing that through the æther sweeps,
Upon his sceptre Zeus's eagle sleeps,
The bird-king crowned!
The while thou sheddest o'er his beaked head bowed
A darkling cloud,
Sweet seal of the eyelids, and in dreamful swound
His rippling back and sides
Heave with thy music's tides;
Thou bidst impetuous Ares lay apart
His keen-edged spear, and soothe with sleep his heart;
G


## p. 11502 (#116) ##########################################

PINDAR
11502
Thou launchest at the breasts of gods, and bound
As by a spell, they own thy lulling power,
Latoides's and the deep-zoned Muses' dower.
But all the unloved of Zeus, far otherwise,
Hearing the voice of the Pierides,
Or on the earth or on the restless seas,
Flee panic-stricken. One in Tartaros lies,
Typhon, the gods' great hundred-headed foe.
The famed Kilikian cavern cradled him;
But now the hill-crags, lo,
O'er Kyme, towering from their ocean-rim,
And Sicily press upon his shaggy breast;
Adds to the rest
The frost-crowned prop of heaven her weight of woe;
Aitna, the yearlong nurse of biting snow,
Whose founts of fire
Gush from her caves, most pure, untamable:
And all day well
The rivers, and the gleaming smoke-wreath's spire;
And in the gloom of night-
A lurid-purple light-
The flame upheaves vast rocks, and with a roar
Whirls them far out upon the ocean-floor.
It is yon monster makes outpour these dire
Volcanic torrents: wondrous to behold,
A wonder e'en to hear by others told
How, pinionèd
'Neath dark-leaved heights of Aitna and the plain,
He writhes in pain,
His back all grided by his craggy bed.
Thine, thine the grace we implore,
O Zeus, that rulest o'er
This mountain, forehead of the fruitful land,
Over whose namesake city near at hand
Her illustrious founder hath a glory shed,
Her name proclaiming in the herald's cries
What time his car at Pytho won the prize,
The car of Hieron. By sailors bound
On outward voyage is a favoring breeze
Held first of blessings, bearing prophecies
Of fair beginning with fair ending crowned.


## p. 11503 (#117) ##########################################

PINDAR
11503
Auspicious falls her fortune by that word,
For conquering steeds ordained to future fame,
And to an honored name
In many a song of festal joyance heard.
O Phoibos, Lykian and Delian king
That lovest the spring
Kastalian of Parnasos, hold this fast,
Make her a nurse of heroes to the last.
For lo, god-sprung
Are all the means to human high emprise:
Men are born wise,
And strong of hand and eloquent of tongue.
And fain to praise, I trust
I fling not as in joust
One whirls and hurls the bronze-cheeked javelin
Without the lists, yet, hurling far, to win
Over my rivals. Ah (the wish hath clung),
If Hieron's days but wealth and bliss bestow
As now, and add forgetfulness of woe,—
How they would lead
Back crowding memories of battles old
Wherein, stern-souled,
He stood what time the gods gave them a meed
Of honor such as ne'er
Hath fallen to Hellene's share,
Wealth's lordly crown. Yea, late he went to war
Like Philoktetes, while one fawned before-
A proud-souled suitor for a friend in need.
Well known is the old story how men came
To bear from Lemnos a sore-wounded frame,
E'en godlike heroes Poias's archer-son;
Who, sacking Priam's city, brought to close
The Danaoi's toils, himself still in the throes
Of body-sickness. But by fate 'twas done.
And such to Hieron be God's decrees,
Granting in season, as the years creep by,
All things wherefor he sigh.
Nor, Muse, shalt thou forget Deinomenes,
Chanting the four-horsed chariot's reward.
Hath he not shared
The triumph of his father? Up then, sing
A song out of our love to Aitna's king.


## p. 11504 (#118) ##########################################

11504
PINDAR
Hieron bestowed
On him that city, built on freedom's base
By the gods' grace
After the canons of the Hyllid code.
Glad are Pamphylos's seed,
And the Herakleidan breed
Beneath Taygetos, Dorians to remain
And keep the laws Aigimios did ordain,
Rich and renowned. Once Pindos their abode;
Amyklai then, where, the Tyndárids near
Of the white horses, flourished still their spear.
O Zeus supreme,
Such lot may human tongues fore'er award
In true accord,
Swayer and swayed by Amenanos's stream.
Beneath thy blessing hand
A hero in command,
Transmitting through his son his wise decrees,
Shall lead a people on the paths of peace.
Keep hushed at home, I pray, the battle scream
Of the Phoenician and Tyrrhenian host
Whose insolent ships went down off Kyme's coast:
Such fate they suffered at the conquering hands
Of Syracuse's lord, who plunged the pride
Of their swift galleys in the whelming tide,
Rescuing Hellas from her grievous bands.
For Athens's favor song of Salamis pleads,
In Sparta let me linger o'er the fight
Beneath Kithairon's height,-
Disastrous both unto the crooked-bow Medes;
And where the Himeras rolls his flood along,
Bides theme for song
Of triumph in Deinomenes's children's praise,
Whose valorous deeds cut short their foemen's days.
Time well thy rede.
Gather the many strands that loosely run,
And twist in one:
Less will the noise of censuring tongues succeed.
Once surfeit slips between,
Dulled are hope's edges keen.
And much do words in others' praise oppress
The souls of men in secret. Ne'ertheless,


## p. 11505 (#119) ##########################################

PINDAR
Since envy better is than pity, speed
On thy fair course; be helmsman just among
Thy people; on truth's anvil forge thy tongue.
XX-720
And many eyes thine every action mark.
But in thy spirit's flower
Biding from hour to hour,
If honeyed speech of men may gladden thee,
Count not the cost. Let thy sail belly free.
The slightest spark
Thy stroke sends glimmering past falls lustrous now:
High steward thou;
Unto the wind, as master of a bark.
No juggling gains allure thee, O my friend!
The voice of fame, that outlives this life's end,
Alone reveals the lives of men that pass,
To song and story. Kroisos's kindly heart
Dies not; but Phalaris, that with cruel art
Burned men alive inside the bull of brass,
A hated bruit weighs down. Nor will the lyres,
Filling the vaulted halls with unison
11505
Of sweet strains, make him one
Among names warbled in the young men's choirs.
Prosperity is first of fortune's meeds;
Glory succeeds.
Who hath won both and kept, wealth and renown
He hath attained unto the supreme crown.
Translated for A Library of the World's Best Literature, by A. G.
Newcomer


## p. 11506 (#120) ##########################################

11506
ALEXIS PIRON
ALEXIS PIRON
(1689-1773)
B
ORN a hundred years later, he would have been an ideal jour-
nalist," says Saintsbury of Piron. The brilliant ill-natured
satirist, who sneered at everything and everybody, was out
of sympathy with his age. He was always on the alert for flaws
in existing conditions. He was a revolutionist, despising classical plat-
itudes, yet with no new creed to advance. Voltaire and his brother
philosophers, as well as dead poets, were butts for his ridicule.
Alexis Piron, born at Dijon in 1689, was
the son of the gentle Burgundian poet Aimé
Piron, popular for his Noëls, or Christmas
songs. From him Piron inherited a love of
verse; and at an early age he deserted the
profession of law for that of poetry. A
licentious ode, written when he was twenty,
started him with an unfortunate reputation;
and many years later incurred the heavy
retribution of exclusion from the French
Academy. Although immoral, the poem
was witty. "If Piron wrote the famous ode,"
said Fontenelle, "he should be scolded but
admitted. If he did not write it, he should
be excluded. " Others thought the reverse;
and although he softened the disappointment with a pension, the
King refused to sanction Piron's election.
In 1819 Piron left Dijon for Paris, where he spent years as a hard-
working playwright, sometimes in collaboration with Le Sage. An
attempt was made to suppress the theatre, by forbidding dramatists
to introduce more than one character on the stage at a time. His
fellows despaired; but Piron's ingenuity was equal to the emergency,
and he produced 'Arlequin Deukalion,' a lively monologue in three
acts, which charmed all Paris. He also wrote many pot-boiling dra-
mas, forgotten now; and he produced one masterpiece,-a five-act
comedy, La Métromanie. ' The self-delusions of a vain would-be
poet, who is struggling for fame and also for academic prizes, is not
an emotional theme. Yet the skillful intrigue and graceful malice of



## p. 11507 (#121) ##########################################

ALEXIS PIRON
11507
the verse give it permanent charm. 'La Métromanie' is still revived
occasionally on the French stage, as a model of eighteenth-century
wit.
But Piron's name stands above all for epigram; for sharp retort
and satiric witticism at the expense of the Academy, of Voltaire,—
the man he envied and disliked,—and of nearly every one who fell
in his way. Samples of these lighter, more spontaneous composi-
tions are included in every collection of French bons mots. Crisp and
subtle, most of them are too essentially French to be caught in Eng-
lish without a knowledge of the occasion which prompted them.
An acquaintance who had written a poem full of plagiarisms
insisted upon reading it to him. From time to time Piron took off his
hat, until at last the poet demanded the reason. "It is my habit to
greet acquaintances," said Piron.
The Archbishop of Paris said graciously to him: "Have you read
my last mandate, Monsieur Piron ? » "Have you? " retorted Piron.
One day the Abbé Desfontaines, seeing Piron richly dressed, ex-
claimed: "What a costume for such a man! " "What a man for the
costume! " quickly answered the poet.
This irrepressible wit constantly embroiled him with others. It
was swift and direct, going straight to its target with a malicious
twang. So in spite of lovable qualities, which came out best in his
home life, this wittiest of Frenchmen made few friends, and lived in
constant dissension with his fellow-writers. There is caustic bitter-
ness in the epitaph he himself composed:
"Here lies Piron, who was nothing,-
Not even Academician! »
FROM LA MÉTROMANIE
[Damis, a visionary young man devoted to writing verse, has escaped
from his creditors in Paris, and under an assumed name is enjoying himself
in the country, where Mondor, his valet, discovers and reasons with him. ]
M
ONDOR [handing Damis a letter]-Ah! Thank Heaven, I've
unearthed you at last! [Damis takes the letter and reads it
to himself. ] Monsieur, I've been hunting for you a whole
week. I've been all over Paris a hundred times. I was afraid
of the river; lest in your extravagant visions, hunting some rhyme
and reading in the clouds, Pegasus with loose bridle should have
boldly borne your Muse to the nets of Saint Cloud.
Damis [aside, indicating the letter he has read]-Oh! Oh!
Shall I, shall I? Here's what keeps me back.


## p. 11508 (#122) ##########################################

11508
ALEXIS PIRON
Mondor - Listen, monsieur: my conscience, be careful! Some
fine day-
Damis [interrupting]- Some fine day will you hold your
tongue ?
Mondor-As you please. Speech is free, anyway. Well, some
one told me you might be here, but no one seemed to know
you. I've been all over this great place, but if you hadn't ap-
peared I'd have missed you again.
Damis-This whole inclosure is swarming with my admirers.
But didn't you ask for me by my family name?
Mondor-Of course. How should I have asked?
Damis-That is no longer my name.
Mondor-You've changed it?
Damis-Yes. For a week I've been imitating my confrères.
They rarely distinguish themselves under their true names, and
it is the common custom of such people to adopt or invent a
new name.
Mondor -Your name then is?
Damis- De l'Empirée. And I'll vouch it shall live!
Mondor-De l'Empirée ? Ah! As there is nothing under
heaven to make your name longer, as you don't possess anything
under the heavenly vault, you have nothing left but the name
of the envelope. So your mind has become a great land-owner?
Space is vast, so it has plenty of room. But when it ascends
alone to its domain, will your body allow you to go too?
He pre-
Damis-Do you think that a man of my talents can rule
his own course and dispose of himself? The destiny of people
like me is like that of drawing-room belles: all the world wants
them. I allowed myself to be brought here to Monsieur Fran-
calen's by an impudent fellow whom I scarcely know.
sents me, and, dupe of the household, I serve as passport to
the puppy who protects me. They were still at table, and made
room for us. I grew joyful, and so did we all. I became excited
and took fire. Uttered lightnings and thunders. My flight was
so rapid and prodigious that those who tried to follow me were
lost in the heavens. Then the company with acclamations be-
stowed upon me the name which descending from Pindus shall
enrich the archives.
Mondor-And impoverish us both!
Damis-Then a comfortable sumptuous carriage rolled me in
a quarter of an hour to this delightful spot, where I laugh, sing,
and drink; and all from complaisance!


## p. 11509 (#123) ##########################################

ALEXIS PIRON
11509
Mondor-From complaisance-so be it.
-
so be it. But don't you know-
Damis- Eh, what?
Mondor - While you are sporting in the fields, Fortune in the
city is a little jealous: Monsieur Balirois,-
Damis [interrupting] — What?
Mondor-Your uncle from Toulouse,-
Damis-Well?
Mondor - Is at Paris.
Damis
Let him stay there!
Mondor - Very well. Without thinking or wishing that you
should know anything about it.
Damis-Why do you tell me, then?
Mondor-Ah! what indifference! Well, is nothing of any
consequence to you any more? A rich old uncle upon whom
your lot depends, who is continually repenting of the good he
means to do you, who is trying to regulate your genius accord-
ing to his own taste, who detests your devilish verses, and who
has kept us for five good years, thank God, for you to study!
You may expect some horrible storms! He is coming incognito
to find out what you're about. Perhaps he has already discovered
that in your soaring you have not taken any license yet except
those he feared,-what you call in your rubrics poetical licenses.
Dread his indignation, I tell you! You will be disinherited.
That word ought to move you if you're not very hardened!
Damis [calmly offering Mondor a paper]- Mondor, take these
verses to the Mercury.
Mondor [refusing the paper]-Fine fruits of my sermon!
Damis-Worthy of the preacher!
Mondor - What? How much is this paper worth to us?
Damis-Honor!
Mondor [shaking his head]—Hum! honor!
Damis-Do you think I'm telling fictions?
Mondor-There's no honor in not paying one's debts; and
with honor alone you pay them very ill.
Damis-What a silly beast is an argumentative valet! Well,
do what I tell you.
Mondor - Now, not wishing to offend, you are a little too
much at your ease, monsieur. You have all the pleasure, and I
have all the annoyance. I have you and your creditors both on
my back.
I have to hear them and get rid of them. I'm tired
of playing the comedy for you, of shielding you, of putting


## p. 11510 (#124) ##########################################

11510
ALEXIS PIRON
off till another day so as brazenly to borrow again. This way
of living is repugnant to my honesty. I am tired of trying to
deliver you from this barking crew. I give it up. I repent. I
won't lie any more. Let them all come,- the bath-keeper, the
merchant, the tailor, your landlord. Let them nose you out
and pursue you. Get yourself out of it if you can; and let's
see-
Damis [interrupting, and again holding out the paper] - You
may get me the last Mercury. Do you hear?
Mondor [still refusing the paper]- Will it suit you to have
me come back with all the people I've just named?
Damis- Bring them.
Mondor-You jest?
Damis
No.
Mondor-You'll see.
Damis-I will wait for you.
Mondor [taking a few steps toward the door] —Oh, well, they'll
give you diversion.
――
Damis- And you that of seeing them overcome with joy.
Mondor [coming back]-Will you pay them?
Damis-Certainly.
Mondor-With what money?
Damis- Don't trouble yourself.
Mondor [aside]-Heyday! Can he be in funds?
Damis- Let us settle now how much we owe each other.
Mondor [aside]-Zounds! he'd teach me to weigh my words!
Damis-To the tutor?
Mondor [in a gentler voice]-Thirty or forty pistoles.
Damis-To the draper, the hair-dresser, the landlord?
Mondor-As much.
Damis-To the tailor?
Mondor-Eighty.
Damis-To the innkeeper?
Mondor-A hundred.
Damis-To you?
Mondor [drawing back and bowing] - Monsieur-
Damis How much?
-
Mondor - Monsieur
-
Damis-Speak!
Mondor-I abuse-
Damis- My patience!


## p. 11511 (#125) ##########################################

ALEXIS PIRON
11511
Mondor - Yes: I beg pardon. It is true that in my zeal I
have failed in respect; but the past made me suspicious of the
future.
Damis-A hundred crowns? Guess! More or less, it does
not matter. We'll share the prizes I shall soon win.
Mondor- The prizes?
Damis-Yes: the silver or gold which France distributes in
different places to whoever composes the best verses. I have
competed everywhere, at Paris, Rouen, Toulouse, Marseilles:
everywhere I've done wonders!
Mondor-Ah! so well that Paris will pay the board, Toulouse
the barber, Marseilles the draper, and the Devil my wages!
Damis- You doubt that I will win everywhere?
Mondor - No, doubt nothing; but haven't you a better secur-
ity for the tailor and the landlord? .
Damis-Yes, indeed: the noblest kind of security. The
Théâtre Français is to give my play to-day. My secret is safe.
Except one actor and yourself, no one in the world knows it is
mine. [Showing the letter which Mondor brought him. ] This
very evening they play it-this says so. To-day my talents are
revealed to Europe. I have taken the first steps toward immor-
tality. Dear friend, how much this great day means to me!
Another hope —
Mondor-Chimerical!
Damis- An adorable girl, only daughter, rare, famous, clever,
incomparable!
Mondor - What do you hope from this rare girl?
Damis-If I triumph to-day, to-morrow I can be her husband.
[Mondor wants to go. ] To-morrow Where are you going,
Mondor?
-
-
_____
Mondor To seek a master.
Damis-Eh! Why am I so suddenly judged unworthy?
Mondor-Monsieur, air is very poor nourishment.
Damis-Who wants you to live on air? Are you mad?
Mondor-Not at all.
Damis-Faith, you're not wise! What, you revolt on the eve
—at the very moment of harvest? Since you force me to details
unworthy of me, let us take a clear view of the state of my for-
tunes, past and present. The payment of your wages is already
sure: one part to-night and the rest the day after to-morrow. I
will succeed; I will marry a scholarly woman. That is the beau-
tiful future before me. Generous young eaglets, worthy their race,


## p. 11512 (#126) ##########################################

11512
ALEXIS PIRON
will fly after us. If we have three, we will bequeath one to
comedy, one to tragedy, and the third to lyricism. These three
possess the whole stage. And my spouse and I, if we uttered
each year, I but a half-poem, she but a single novel, would
draw crowds from all sides. Behold gold and silver rolling
through the house, and our united intellects levying from theatre
and press!
Mondor-In self-esteem you are a rare man, and on that pil-
low you nap soundly. But the noise of hissing may wake you.
Damis [forcing him to take the paper]-Go! My embarrass-
ments merit some consideration. One play announced, another
in my head; one in which I am playing, and another all ready
to read! This is having the mind occupied.
Mondor An inheritance and lots of time thrown away
[He goes, and Damis returns to the house. ]
-
THE OTHERS
S
O RICH in famous men was Greece,
That still she vaunts them to us:
But seven wise men was all she had;
Judge then how many fools!
EXPERIENCE
WOR
ORK without thinking of gain;
Be neither selfish nor vain;
Love; do not hate nor disdain;
Be sober and gay; drink good wine;
And thy life at its final confine
Shall outvalue a monarch's long reign.
M
EPITAPH
Y JOURNEY here below is through;
Life is indeed a narrow strait.
Once saw I clear, now dimmed the view;
Once wise was I, but now I'm blate.
I, step by step, have reached the pass
Which may be shunned by fool nor sage,
To go, where know I not, alas!
Adieu, Piron, and bon voyage!


## p. 11513 (#127) ##########################################

11513
AUGUST VON PLATEN
(1796-1835)
T IS by reason rather of his exquisite perfection of form than
of his poetic inspiration, that Count Platen maintained his
distinguished place among the poets of Germany. The serv-
ice which he rendered to German literature was this: that amid the
mad rush of Romanticism towards banal sentimentality and fastastic
formlessness, he stood firm to the ideal of pure and lofty thoughts
cast in a chastened and classic form. The softer emotions rarely
find voice in his verse; but human dignity, profound sorrow, manly
independence, and fierce hatred of oppres-
sion, have thrilling utterance. He strove,
like Goethe, to live in a serene atmosphere
of intellect, disdaining popular tastes and
vulgar sentiments. Truth was his Muse,
and his poetry reflects her cold and crystal
beauty.

Count August von Platen-Hallermund
was born of a wealthy and noble family
at Ansbach, on October 24th, 1796. He was
educated at the cadet academy of Munich,
and at the age of eighteen became a lieu-
tenant in the Bavarian army. His part in
the campaign of 1815 was a tame one,
and garrison life was irksome to him. He
spent most of his time on furlough, studying philosophy and phi-
lology at the universities of Würzburg and Erlangen. Schelling exer-
cised an austere influence upon his thought.
In 1821 Platen came before the public as a poet, with his exquisite
and inimitable Ghaselen' (Gazels), - poems in the Persian manner;
and in another book of verse called 'Lyrische Blätter' (Lyric Leaves).
In 1823 came a second volume of 'Gazels. ' These poems elicited
warm words of praise from Goethe, and attracted the attention of
poets generally. It was the refinement of thought, and the easy
precision with which a difficult verse-form was handled, that aston-
ished and fascinated. For purposes of dogmatic classification Pla-
ten may be enrolled among the Romantic poets; but except in his
choice of exotic material he has little in common with them. Limpid
AUGUST VON PLATEN


## p. 11514 (#128) ##########################################

11514
AUGUST VON PLATEN
clearness and severe structural beauty distinguish even his earliest
work, and these qualities were at last elevated by him into a gospel
of art. Few poets have taken their calling more seriously, or held
their gifts more sacred.
In 1824 Platen visited Venice; and the noble Sonnets from Ven-
ice' show how his talents were stimulated there. Thenceforth his
life was exclusively devoted to scholarly pursuits and the work of
poetic creation. He was filled with glowing indignation at the bun-
gling of the later Romanticists, the lyrics of empty words, the nov-
els of mass without matter, and the tasteless "tragedies of fate. "
This indignation was concentrated in a comedy after the manner of
istophanes, Die Verhängnissvolle Gabel' (The Fatal Fork). The
cordial recognition which Platen received from Goethe, Uhland, and
Rückert raised his already well-developed self-esteem to the fighting
point. He became a poet militant, and so arose the unfortunate lit-
erary war with Immermann and Heine. A second Aristophanic com-
edy was directed against Immermann, - 'Der Romantische Edipus'
(The Romantic Edipus): Immermann had ridiculed the 'Gazels';
and Heine, who had joined in the ridicule, was included in the satire.
Heine's reply, deliciously witty but bitterly personal, appeared in the
'Reisebilder' (Travel-Pictures).
The indifference with which literary Germany generally received
Platen's enthusiasm for dignity of thought and purity of form in-
creased his wrath, and he left his native land in disgust. In Flor-
ence, Rome, and Naples he found more congenial surroundings.
Goethe blamed him for not forgetting the pettinesses of German
literary strife amid such scenes. Nevertheless these years were the
happiest of his life. Ballads, lyrics, odes, and dramas swelled the
volume of his contributions to literature. He wrote also a perfunc-
tory History of the Kingdom of Naples'; and a charming fairy epic,
'Die Abassiden,' written in 1830 but not published until 1834. His
last drama was the 'League of Cambray. ' The flaming Polenlieder'
(Songs of the Poles), which gave restrained but powerful expression
to his love of freedom, and his hatred of the Czar, were forbidden
by the censor, and did not appear until after the poet's death. It
was this act of tyranny that elicited the glowing stanzas with which
the series comes to an end.
Platen returned to Germany in 1832, and in the following year
brought out the first complete edition of his works. His poems won
new admirers constantly, and long before his death he had ceased
to be the voice of one crying in the wilderness. In 1834 he went
back to Italy; and on December 5th, 1835, he died in Sicily.
Platen was an alien in his native land. It was not only that he
was rejected: he was not himself in touch with his time. Indeed, it


## p. 11515 (#129) ##########################################

AUGUST VON PLATEN
11515
is his chief merit that he checked the movement that threatened
literary chaos. After his death, enthusiastic admiration went almost
as far in the upward direction as indifference had sunk in the down-
ward. To-day we recognize in Platen the "sculptor in words," the
master of form, the stickler for truth, and the sincere thinker, who,
unable to reconcile himself to vulgar views of life, died disappointed
and in exile, rather
"Than the yoke of blind plebeian hatred bear. "
[This, and other selections from Longfellow's Poets and Poetry of Europe,'
are reprinted with the approval of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. , publishers. ]
REMORSE
ow I started up in the night, in the night,
How Drawn on without rest or reprieval!
The streets, with their watchmen, were lost to my
sight,
As I wandered so light
In the night, in the night,
Through the gate with the arch medieval.
The mill-brook rushed through the rocky height,
I leaned o'er the bridge in my yearning;
Deep under me watched I the waves in their flight,
As they glided so light
In the night, in the night,
Yet backward not one was returning.
O'erhead were revolving, so countless and bright,
The stars in melodious existence;
And with them the moon, more serenely bedight;
They sparkled so light
In the night, in the night,
Through the magical, measureless distance.
And upward I gazed in the night, in the night,
And again on the waves in their fleeting;
Ah, woe! thou hast wasted thy days in delight!
Now silence thou, light
In the night, in the night,
The remorse in thy heart that is beating.
Translation of Henry W. Longfellow.
I


## p. 11516 (#130) ##########################################

11516
AUGUST VON PLATEN
BEFORE THE CONVENT OF ST. JUST, 1556
From Trench's 'The Story of Justin Martyr and Other Poems,' and in 'Poets
and Poetry of Europe.
Is night, and storms continually roar;
T'S
Ye monks of Spain, now open me the door.
Here in unbroken quiet let me fare,
Save when the loud bell startles you to prayer.