No More Learning

'Tis for thee that I must dwell
In this vaulted chamber cell,
Hard beset and all alone!
By our Lady Mary's Son
Here no longer will I wonn,
If I may flee! "
AUCASSIN AND THE VISCOUNT
[The Viscount speaks first]
"PLENTIFUL lack of comfort hadst thou got thereby; for in Hell
would thy soul have lain while the world endures, and into Para-
dise wouldst thou have entered never. "
"In Paradise what have I to win? Therein I seek not to en-
ter, but only to have Nicolette, my sweet lady that I love so well.


## p. 948 (#370) ############################################

948
AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
For into Paradise go none but such folk as I shall tell thee now:
Thither go these same old priests, and halt old men and maimed,
who all day and night cower continually before the altars, and in
these old crypts; and such folks as wear old amices, and old
clouted frocks, and naked folks and shoeless, and those covered
with sores, who perish of hunger and thirst, and of cold, and of
wretchedness. These be they that go into Paradise; with them
have I naught to make. But into Hell would I fain go; for into
Hell fare the goodly clerks, and goodly knights that fall in tour-
neys and great wars, and stout men-at-arms, and the free men.
With these would I liefly go. And thither pass the sweet ladies
and courteous, that have two lovers, or three, and their lords
also thereto. Thither goes the gold, and the silver, and fur of
vair, and fur of gris; and there too go the harpers, and min-
strels, and the kings of this world. With these I would gladly
go, let me but have with me Nicolette, my sweetest lady. "
AUCASSIN CAPTURES COUNT BOUGART
THE damoiseau was tall and strong, and the horse whereon he
sat was right eager. And he laid hand to sword, and fell a-smit-
ing to right and left, and smote through helm and nasal, and
arm, and clenched hand, making a murder about him, like a wild
boar when hounds fall on him in the forest, even till he struck
down ten knights, and seven he hurt; and straightway he hurled
out of the press, and rode back again at full speed, sword in
hand. Count Bougart of Valence heard it said that they were to
hang Aucassin, his enemy, so he came into that place and Aucas-
sin was ware of him. He gat his sword into his hand, and
struck at his helm with such a stroke that it drave it down on
his head, and he being stunned, fell groveling. And Aucassin
laid hands on him, and caught him by the nasal of his helmet,
and gave him up to his father.
"Father," quoth Aucassin, "lo, here is your mortal foe, who
hath so warred on you and done you such evil. Full twenty
months did this war endure, and might not be ended by man. "
"Fair son," said his father, "thy feats of youth shouldst thou
do, and not seek after folly. "
"Father," saith Aucassin, sermon me no sermons, but ful-
fill my covenant. "
«< Ha! what covenant, fair son? "
«<
"What, father! hast thou forgotten it?
whosoever forgets, will I not forget it, so
By mine own head,
much it hath me at


## p. 949 (#371) ############################################

AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
949
heart. Didst thou not covenant with me when I took up arms,
and went into the stour, that if God brought me back safe and
sound, thou wouldst let me see Nicolette, my sweet lady, even
so long that I may have of her two words or three, and one
kiss? So didst thou covenant, and my mind is that thou keep
thy word. "
"I? quoth the father; "God forsake me when I keep this
covenant! Nay, if she were here, I would have burned her in
the fire, and thou thyself shouldst be sore adread. "
THE LOVERS' MEETING
AUCASSIN was cast into prison as ye have heard tell, and Nico-
lette, of her part, was in the chamber. Now it was summer-
time, the month of May, when days are warm, and long, and
clear, and the nights still and serene. Nicolette lay one night
on her bed, and saw the moon shine clear through a window,
and heard the nightingale sing in the garden, and she minded
her of Aucassin her friend, whom she loved so well. Then fell
she to thoughts of Count Garin of Beaucaire, that he hated her
to death; and therefore deemed she that there she would no
longer abide, for that, if she were told of, and the Count knew
where she lay, an ill death he would make her die.
She saw
that the old woman was sleeping who held her company. Then
she arose, and clad her in a mantle of silk she had by her, very
goodly, and took sheets of the bed and towels and knotted one
to the other, and made therewith a cord as long as she might,
and knotted it to a pillar in the window, and let herself slip
down into the garden; then caught up her raiment in both
hands, behind and before, and kilted up her kirtle, because of
the dew that she saw lying deep on the grass, and so went on
her way down through the garden.
Her locks were yellow and curled, her eyes blue-gray and
smiling, her face featly fashioned, the nose high and fairly set,
the lips more red than cherry or rose in time of summer, her
teeth white and small; and her breasts so firm that they bore
up the folds of her bodice as they had been two walnuts; so
slim was she in the waist that your two hands might have
clipped her; and the daisy flowers that brake beneath her as
she went tiptoe, and that bent above her instep, seemed black
against her feet and ankles, so white was the maiden. She
came to the postern-gate, and unbarred it, and went out through


## p. 950 (#372) ############################################

950
AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
the streets of Beaucaire, keeping always on the shadowy side,
for the moon was shining right clear, and so wandered she till
she came to the tower where her lover lay. The tower was
flanked with pillars, and she cowered under one of them,
wrapped in her mantle. Then thrust she her head through a
crevice of the tower, that was old and worn, and heard Aucas-
sin, who was weeping within, and making dole and lament for
the sweet friend he loved so well. And when she had listened
to him some time she began to say:-
Here one singeth:
·-
Nicolette, the bright of brow,
On a pillar leanèd now,
All Aucassin's wail did hear
For his love that was so dear,
Then the maid spake low and clear:-
"Gentle knight, withouten fear,
Little good befalleth thee,
Little help of sigh or tear.
Ne'er shalt thou have joy of me.
Never shalt thou win me; still
Am I held in evil will
Of thy father and thy kin.
Therefore must I cross the sea,
And another land must win. "
Then she cut her curls of gold,
Cast them in the dungeon hold,
Aucassin doth clasp them there,
Kiss'th the curls that were so fair,
Them doth in his bosom bear,
Then he wept, e'en as of old,
All for his love!
Thus say they, speak they, tell they The Tale.
When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would pass into a
far country, he was all in wrath.
"Fair, sweet friend," quoth he, "thou shalt not go, for then
wouldst thou be my death. And the first man that saw thee and
had the might withal, would take thee straightway into his bed
to be his leman. And once thou camest into a man's bed, and
that bed not mine, wit ye well that I would not tarry till I had
found a knife to pierce my heart and slay myself. Nay, verily,
wait so long I would not; but would hurl myself so far as I


## p. 951 (#373) ############################################

AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
951
might see a wall, or a black stone, and I would dash my head
against it so mightily that the eyes would start and my brain
burst. Rather would I die even such a death than know that
thou hadst lain in a man's bed, and that bed not mine. "
"Aucassin," she said, I trow thou lovest me not as much as
thou sayest, but I love thee more than thou lovest me. "
"Ah, fair, sweet friend," said Aucassin, "it may not be that
thou shouldest love me even as I love thee. Woman may not
love man as man loves woman; for a woman's love lies in her
eye, and the bud of her breast, and her foot's tiptoe, but the
love of a man is in his heart planted, whence it can never issue
forth and pass away. "
Now when Aucassin and Nicolette were holding this parley
together, the town's watchmen were coming down a street, with
swords drawn beneath their cloaks, for Count Garin had charged
them that if they could take her, they should slay her. But the
sentinel that was on the tower saw them coming, and heard
them speaking of Nicolette as they went, and threatening to slay
her.
"God," quoth he, "this were great pity to slay so fair a
maid! Right great charity it were if I could say aught to her,
and they perceive it not, and she should be on her guard against
them, for if they slay her, then were Aucassin, my damoiseau,
dead, and that were great pity. "
Here one singeth:·
-
Valiant was the sentinel,
Courteous, kind, and practiced well,
So a song did sing and tell,
Of the peril that befell.
"Maiden fair that lingerest here,
Gentle maid of merry cheer,
Hair of gold, and eyes as clear
As the water in a mere,
Thou, meseems, hast spoken word
To thy lover and thy lord,
That would die for thee, his dear;
Now beware the ill accord
Of the cloaked men of the sword:
These have sworn, and keep their word,
They will put thee to the sword
Save thou take heed! "


## p. 952 (#374) ############################################

952
AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
NICOLETTE Builds her Lodge
NICOLETTE, the bright of brow,
From the shepherds doth she pass
All below the blossomed bough
Where an ancient way there was,
Overgrown and choked with grass,
Till she found the cross-roads where
Seven paths do all way fare;
Then she deemeth she will try,
Should her lover pass thereby,
If he love her loyally.
So she gathered white lilies,
Oak-leaf, that in greenwood is,
Leaves of many a branch, iwis,
Therewith built a lodge of green,
Goodlier was never seen.
Swore by God, who may not lie:
"If my love the lodge should spy,
He will rest a while thereby
If he love me loyally. "
Thus his faith she deemed to try,
"Or I love him not, not I,
Nor he loves me! "
AUCASSIN, SEEKING NICOLETTE, COMES UPON A COWHERD
AUCASSIN fared through the forest from path to path after Nico-
lette, and his horse bare him furiously. Think ye not that the
thorns him spared, nor the briars, nay, not so, but tare his rai-
ment, that scarce a knot might be tied with the soundest part
thereof, and the blood spurted from his arms, and flanks, and
legs, in forty places, or thirty, so that behind the Childe men
might follow on the track of his blood in the grass.
But so
much he went in thoughts of Nicolette, his lady sweet, that he
felt no pain nor torment, and all the day hurled through the for-
est in this fashion nor heard no word of her. And when he saw
vespers draw nigh, he began to weep for that he found her not.
All down an old road, and grass-grown, he fared, when anon,
looking along the way before him, he saw such an one as I shall
tell you.
Tall was he, and great of growth, ugly and hid-
eous: his head huge, and blacker than charcoal, and more than
the breadth of a hand between his two eyes; and he had great


## p. 953 (#375) ############################################

AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
953
cheeks, and a big nose and flat, big nostrils and wide, and thick
lips redder than steak, and great teeth yellow and ugly, and he
was shod with hosen and shoon of ox-hide, bound with cords of
bark up over the knee, and all about him a great cloak two-fold;
and he leaned upon a grievous cudgel, and Aucassin came unto
him, and was afraid when he beheld him.
AUCASSIN FInds Nicolette's Lodge
SO THEY
parted from each other, and Aucassin rode on; the night
was fair and still, and so long he went that he came to the lodge
of boughs that Nicolette had builded and woven within and with-
out, over and under, with flowers, and it was the fairest lodge
that might be seen.
When Aucassin was ware of it, he stopped
suddenly, and the light of the moon fell therein.
"Forsooth! " quoth Aucassin, "here was Nicolette, my sweet
lady, and this lodge builded she with her fair hands. For the
sweetness of it, and for love of her, will I now alight, and rest
here this night long. "
He drew forth his foot from the stirrup to alight, and the
steed
was great and tall. He dreamed so much on Nicolette,
his right sweet friend, that he fell heavily upon a stone, and
drave his shoulder out of its place.
hurt sore; nathless he bore him with that force he might, and
fastened his horse with the other hand to a thorn. Then turned
Then knew he that he was
he
on his side, and crept backwise into the lodge of boughs.
And he looked through a gap in the lodge and saw the stars in
heaven, and one that was brighter than the rest; so began he to
say:-
Here one singeth:-
"Star, that I from far behold,
Star the moon calls to her fold,
Nicolette with thee doth dwell,
My sweet love, with locks of gold.
God would have her dwell afar,
Dwell with him for evening star.
Would to God, whate'er befell,
Would that with her I might dwell.
I would clip her close and strait;
Nay, were I of much estate,
Some king's son desirable,


## p. 954 (#376) ############################################

954
AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
1
Worthy she to be my mate,
Me to kiss and clip me well,
Sister, sweet friend! "
So speak they, say they, tell they The Tale.
When Nicolette heard Aucassin, she came to him, for she was
not far away. She passed within the lodge, and threw her arms
about his neck, clipped him and kissed him.
"Fair, sweet friend, welcome be thou! "
"And thou, fair, sweet love, be thou welcome! »
So either kissed and clipped the other, and fair joy was them
between.
"Ha! sweet love," quoth Aucassin, "but now was I sore hurt,
and my shoulder wried, but I take no heed of it, nor have no
hurt therefrom, since I have thee. "
Right so felt she his shoulder and found it was wried from
its place. And she so handled it with her white hands, and so
wrought in her surgery, that by God's will who loveth lovers, it
went back into its place. Then took she flowers, and fresh grass,
and leaves green, and bound them on the hurt with a strip of
her smock, and he was all healed.
NICOLETTE SAILS TO CARTHAGE
WHEN all they of the court heard her speak thus, that she was
daughter to the king of Carthage, they knew well that she spake
truly; so made they great joy of her, and led her to the castle
with great honor, as a king's daughter. And they would have
given her to her lord a king of Paynim, but she had no mind to
marry. There dwelt she three days or four. And she considered
by what device she might seek for Aucassin. Then she got her
a viol, and learned to play on it; till they would have married
her one day to a rich king of Paynim, and she stole forth by
night, and came to the seaport, and dwelt with a poor woman
thereby. Then took she a certain herb, and therewith smeared
her head and her face, till she was all brown and stained. And
she had a coat, and mantle, and smock, and breeches made, and
attired herself as if she had been a minstrel. So took she the
viol and went to a mariner, and so wrought on him that he took
her aboard his vessel. Then hoisted they sail, and fared on the
high seas even till they came to the land of Provence. And


## p. 955 (#377) ############################################

AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE
955
Nicolette went forth and took the viol, and went playing through
all the country, even till she came to the castle of Beaucaire,
where Aucassin was.
Here singeth one : —
At Beaucaire below the tower
Sat Aucassin on an hour,
Heard the bird, and watched the flower,
With his barons him beside.
Then came on him in that tide
The sweet influence of love
And the memory thereof;
Thought of Nicolette the fair,
And the dainty face of her
He had loved so many years.
Then was he in dule and tears!
Even then came Nicolette;
On the stair a foot she set,
And she drew the viol bow
O'er the strings and chanted so:-
"Listen, lords and knights, to me,
Lords of high or low degree,
To my story list will ye
All of Aucassin and her
That was Nicolette the fair?
And their love was long to tell;
Deep woods through he sought her well:
Paynims took them on a day
In Torelore, and bound they lay.
Of Aucassin naught know we,
But fair Nicolette the free
Now in Carthage doth she dwell;
There her father loves her well,
Who is king of that countrie.
Her a husband hath he found,
Paynim lord that serves Mahound!
Ne'er with him the maid will go,
For she loves a damoiseau,
Aucassin, that ye may know,
Swears to God that never mo
With a lover will she go
Save with him she loveth so
In long desire. »


## p. 956 (#378) ############################################

—
956
HE fame of this celebrated naturalist rests on one magnificent
book, The Birds of America,' for which all his life may be
said to have been a preparation, and which certainly sur-
passes in interest every other ornithological publication. For fifteen
years before he thought of making use of his collections in this way,
he annually went alone with his gun and his drawing materials into
deep and unexplored forests and through wild regions of country,
making long journeys on foot and counting nothing a hardship that
added to his specimens. This passion had controlled him from early
childhood. His father, a Frenchman, was living in New Orleans at
the time of Audubon's birth in 1780, and with the view of helping
him in his studies, sent him to Paris when he was fifteen years
old, where he entered the drawing-class of David the painter. He
remained there two years; and it was after his return that he made
his memorable excursions, his home being then a farm at Mill Grove,
near Philadelphia.
In 1808 he removed with his family to the West, still continuing
his researches. Several years later he returned to Philadelphia with
a portfolio of nearly a thousand colored drawings of birds. What
befell them a parallel to so many like incidents, as through Warbur-
ton's cook, Newton's dog, Carlyle's friend, and Edward Livingston's
fire, that they seem one of the appointed tests of moral fibre — is
best told in Audubon's own language:-
JOHN JAMES AUDUBON
(1780-1851)
—
"An accident," he says, "which happened to two hundred of my original
drawings, nearly put a stop to my researches in ornithology. I shall relate
it, merely to show how far enthusiasm for by no other name can I call my
perseverance may enable the preserver of nature to surmount the most dis-
heartening difficulties. I left the village of Henderson, in Kentucky, situated
on the banks of the Ohio, where I resided for several years, to proceed to
Philadelphia on business. I looked to my drawings before my departure,
placed them carefully in a wooden box, and gave them in charge of a rela-
tive, with injunctions to see that no injury should happen to them. My
absence was of several months; and when I returned, after having enjoyed
the pleasures of home for a few days, I inquired after my box, and what I
was pleased to call my treasure. The box was produced and opened; but,
reader, feel for me, a pair of Norway rats had taken possession of the
whole, and reared a young family among the gnawed bits of paper, which,
but a month previous, represented nearly a thousand inhabitants of air! The
burning heat which instantly rushed through my brain was too great to be
―――
-


## p. 956 (#379) ############################################


J. JAUDUBON.


## p. 956 (#380) ############################################

»
J
t. .
46
་་
1 b
!
1


## p. 956 (#381) ############################################


Grosch
J. J. AUDUBON.


## p. 956 (#382) ############################################

Ma
F


## p. 957 (#383) ############################################

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON
957
endured without affecting my whole nervous system. I slept not for several
nights, and the days passed like days of oblivion; -until, the animal powers
being recalled into action through the strength of my constitution, I took up
my gun, my note-book, and my pencils, and went forth to the woods as
gayly as if nothing had happened. I felt pleased that I might now make
better drawings than before; and ere a period not exceeding three years had
elapsed, my portfolio was again filled. "
In 1826 he sailed for Europe to exhibit his newly collected treas-
ures to foreign ornithologists. He succeeded in obtaining pecuniary
aid in publishing the work, and plates were made in England. The
book was published in New York in four volumes (elephant folio) in
1830-39. The birds are life-size. The American Ornithological
Biography,' which is the text for the plates, was published in Edin-
burgh, 1831-39, in five octavo volumes. Accompanied by his two
sons he started on new excursions, which resulted in The Quad-
rupeds of America,' with a 'Biography of American Quadrupeds,'
both published at Philadelphia, beginning in 1840. During that year
he built a house for himself in the upper part of New York, in what
is now called Audubon Park, and died there January 27th, 1851.
Audubon's descriptive text is not unworthy of his plates: his
works are far from being mere tenders to picture-books. He is full
of enthusiasm, his descriptions of birds and animals are vivid and
realizing, and his adventures are told with much spirit and consider-
able literary skill, though some carelessness of syntax.
A DANGEROUS ADVENTURE
From The American Ornithological Biography>
ON
MY return from the Upper Mississippi, I found myself
obliged to cross one of the wide prairies which, in that
portion of the United States, vary the appearance of the
country. The weather was fine, all around me was as fresh and
blooming as if it had just issued from the bosom of nature. My
knapsack, my gun, and my dog, were all I had for baggage and
company. But although well moccasined, I moved slowly along,
attracted by the brilliancy of the flowers, and the gambols of
the fawns around their dams, to all appearance as thoughtless
of danger as I felt myself.
My march was of long duration; I saw the sun sinking
beneath the horizon long before I could perceive any appearance
of woodland, and nothing in the shape of man had I met with
that day.
The track which I followed was only an old Indian


## p. 958 (#384) ############################################

958
JOHN JAMES AUDUBON
trace; and, as darkness overshadowed the prairie, I felt some
desire to reach at least a copse, in which I might lie down to
rest. The night-hawks were skimming over and around me,
attracted by the buzzing wings of the beetles which formed
their food, and the distant howling of wolves gave me some
hope that I should soon arrive at the skirts of some woodland.
I did so, and almost at the same instant a fire-light attracting
my eye, I moved toward it, full of confidence that it proceeded
from the camp of some wandering Indians. I was mistaken. I
discovered by its glare that it was from the hearth of a small
log cabin, and that a tall figure passed and repassed between it
and me, as if busily engaged in household arrangements.
I reached the spot, and presenting myself at the door, asked
the tall figure, which proved to be a woman, if I might take
shelter under her roof for the night. Her voice was gruff, and
her attire negligently thrown about her. She answered in the
affirmative. I walked in, took a wooden stool, and quietly seated
myself by the fire. The next object that attracted my notice
was a finely formed young Indian, resting his head between his
hands, with his elbows on his knees. A long bow rested against
the log wall near him, while a quantity of arrows and two or
three raccoon skins lay at his feet. He moved not; he appar-
ently breathed not. Accustomed to the habits of the Indians,
and knowing that they pay little attention to the approach of
civilized strangers (a circumstance which in some countries is
considered as evincing the apathy of their character), I addressed
him in French, a language not unfrequently partially known to
the people in that neighborhood. He raised his head, pointed to
one of his eyes with his finger, and gave me a significant glance
with the other. His face was covered with blood. The fact
was, that an hour before this, as he was in the act of discharg-
ing an arrow at a raccoon in the top of a tree, the arrow had
split upon the cord, and sprung back with such violence into his
right eye as to destroy it forever.
Feeling hungry, I inquired what sort of fare I might expect.
Such a thing as a bed was not to be seen, but many large
untanned bear and buffalo hides lay piled in a corner. I drew
a fine timepiece from my breast, and told the woman that it
was late, and that I was fatigued. She had espied my watch,
the richness of which seemed to operate upon her feelings with
electric quickness. She told me that there was plenty of venison


## p. 959 (#385) ############################################

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON
959
and jerked buffalo meat, and that on removing the ashes I
should find a cake. But my watch had struck her fancy, and
her curiosity had to be gratified by an immediate sight of it. I
took off the gold chain that secured it, from around my neck,
and presented it to her. She was all ecstasy, spoke of its
beauty, asked me its value, and put the chain round her brawny
neck, saying how happy the possession of such a watch should
make her. Thoughtless, and as I fancied myself, in so retired.
a spot, secure, I paid little attention to her talk or her move-
ments. I helped my dog to a good supper of venison, and was
not long in satisfying the demands of my own appetite.
The Indian rose from his seat, as if in extreme suffering.
He passed me and repassed me several times, and once pinched
me on the side so violently that the pain nearly brought forth
an exclamation of anger. I looked at him. His eye met mine;
but his look was so forbidding that it struck a chill into the more
nervous part of my system. He again seated himself, drew his
butcher-knife from its greasy scabbard, examined its edge, as I
would do that of a razor suspected dull, replaced it, and again
taking his tomahawk from his back, filled the pipe of it with
tobacco, and sent me expressive glances whenever our hostess
chanced to have her back towards us.
Never until that moment had my senses been awakened to the
danger which I now suspected to be about me.
I returned glance
for glance to my companion, and rested well assured that what-
ever enemies I might have, he was not of their number.
I asked the woman for my watch, wound it up, and under
pretense of wishing to see how the weather might probably be
on the morrow, took up my gun, and walked out of the cabin.
I slipped a ball into each barrel, scraped the edges of my flints,
renewed the primings, and returning to the hut, gave a favorable
account of my observations. I took a few bear-skins, made a
pallet of them, and calling my faithful dog to my side, lay down,
with my gun close to my body, and in a few minutes was to all
appearance fast asleep.
A short time had elapsed, when some voices were heard; and
from the corner of my eyes I saw two athletic youths making
their entrance, bearing a dead stag on a pole.
pole. They disposed of
their burden, and asking for whisky, helped themselves freely to
it. Observing me and the wounded Indian, they asked who I
was, and why the devil that rascal (meaning the Indian, who,


## p. 960 (#386) ############################################

960
JOHN JAMES AUDUBON
they knew, understood not a word of English) was in the house.
The mother-for so she proved to be-bade them speak less
loudly, made mention of my watch, and took them to a corner,
where a conversation took place, the purport of which it required
little shrewdness in me to guess. I tapped my dog gently. He
moved his tail, and with indescribable pleasure I saw his fine
eyes alternately fixed on me and raised toward the trio in the
corner. I felt that he perceived danger in my situation. The
Indian exchanged a last glance with me.
The lads had eaten and drunk themselves into such condition
that I already looked upon them as hors de combat; and the fre-
quent visits of the whisky bottle to the ugly mouth of their dam
I hoped would soon reduce her to a like state. Judge of my
astonishment, reader, when I saw this incarnate fiend take a
large carving-knife and go to the grindstone to whet its edge. I
saw her pour the water on the turning machine, and watched
her working away with the dangerous instrument, until the cold
sweat covered every part of my body, in spite of my determina-
tion to defend myself to the last. Her task finished, she walked
to her reeling sons, and said, "There, that'll soon settle him!
Boys, kill yon - and then for the watch. "
"
I turned, cocked my gunlocks silently, touched my faithful
companion, and lay ready to start up and shoot the first one who
might attempt my life. The moment was fast approaching, and
that night might have been my last in the world, had not Provi-
dence made preparations for my rescue. All was ready. The
infernal hag was advancing slowly, probably contemplating the
best way of dispatching me, while her sons should be engaged
with the Indian. I was several times on the point of rising and
shooting her on the spot; - but she was not to be punished thus.
The door was suddenly opened, and there entered two stout
travelers, each with a long rifle on his shoulder. I bounced up
on my feet, and making them most heartily welcome, told them
how well it was for me that they should have arrived at that
moment. The tale was told in a minute. The drunken sons
were secured, and the woman, in spite of her defense and vocif-
erations, shared the same fate. The Indian fairly danced with joy,
and gave us to understand that as he could not sleep for pain,
he would watch over us. You may suppose we slept much less
than we talked. The two strangers gave me an account of their
once having been themselves in a somewhat similar situation.


## p. 961 (#387) ############################################

BERTHOLD AUERBACH
961
Day came, fair and rosy, and with it the punishment of our
captives. They were now quite sobered. Their feet were un-
bound, but their arms were still securely tied. We marched them
into the woods off the road, and having used them as Regula-
tors were wont to use such delinquents, we set fire to the cabin,
gave all the skins and implements to the young Indian warrior,
and proceeded, well pleased, towards the settlements.
During upward of twenty-five years, when my wanderings
extended to all parts of our country, this was the only time at
which my life was in danger from my fellow-creatures. Indeed,
so little risk do travelers run in the United States, that no one
born there ever dreams of any to be encountered on the road,
and I can only account for this occurrence by supposing that the
inhabitants of the cabin were not Americans.
Will you believe, good-natured reader, that not many miles
from the place where this adventure happened, and where fifteen
years ago, no habitation belonging to civilized man was expected,
and very few ever seen, large roads are now laid out, cultivation
has converted the woods into fertile fields, taverns have been
erected, and much of what we Americans call comfort is to be
met with! So fast does improvement proceed in our abundant
and free country.
NO
BERTHOLD AUERBACH
(1812-1882)
HE author of 'Black Forest Village Stories' and 'On the
Heights' stands out in honorable individuality among mod-
ern German novelists, even if the latest fashions in fiction
make his work already a little antiquated. Auerbach's biography is
one of industry rather than of incident. His birth was humble. His
life was long. He wrote voluminously and was widely popular, to
be half forgotten within a decade after his death. He may perhaps
be reckoned the founder of a contemporary German school of tendenz
novel writers; a school now so much diminished that Spielhagen —
who, however, wears Auerbach's mantle with a difference is its
only survivor.
Of Jewish parentage, his birthplace being Nordstetten, Würtem-
berg (1812), Auerbach drifted from preparation for the synagogue
11-61


## p. 962 (#388) ############################################

962
BERTHOLD AUERBACH
toward law, philosophy, and literature. The study of Spinoza (whose
works he translated) gave form to his convictions concerning human
life. It led him to spend his literary talents on materials so various
as the homely simplicity of peasant scenes and peasant souls, on the
one hand, and on the other the popularization of a high social and
ethical philosophy, specially inculcated through his larger fictions.
His college education was obtained at Tübingen, Munich, and Heidel-
berg.
Necessity rather than ambition prompted him to write, and he
wrote as long as he lived. A partial list of his works begins with a
pseudonymous Life of Frederick the Great' (1834-36), and 'Das
Judenthum und der Neuste Literatur' (The Jew Element in Recent
Literature: 1836), and passes to the semi-
biographic novel (Spinoza' (1837), after-
ward supplemented with 'Ein Denkerleben '
(A Thinker's Life), 'Dichter und Kaufman'
(Poet and Merchant: 1839), -stories belong-
ing to the Ghetto Series,' embodying Jew-
ish and German life in the time of Moses
Mendelssohn; the translation in five volumes
of Spinoza's philosophy, with a critical bio-
graphy, 1841; and in 1842 another work
intended to popularize philosophy, Der
Gebildete Bürger: ein Buch für den Denk-
enden Menschen' (The Clever Townsman:
a Book for Thinking Men).
BERTHOLD AUERBACH
In 1843 came the first set of the famous 'Schwarzwälder Dorfge-
schichten (Black Forest Village Stories), followed by a second group
in 1848.
These won instant and wide favor, and were widely trans-
lated. They rank among the author's most pleasing and successful
productions, stamped as they are with that truth which a writer like
Auerbach, or a painter like Defregger or Schmidt, can express when
sitting down to deal with the scenes and folk which from early
youth have been photographed upon his heart and memory. In 1856
there followed in the same descriptive field his 'Barfüssele' (Little
Barefoot), Joseph im Schnee' (Joseph in the Snow: 1861), and
'Edelweiss' (1861). His writings of this date - tales, sketches journa-
listic, political, and dramatic, and other papers- - reveal Auerbach's
varying moods or enthusiasms, chronicle his residence in different
German or Austrian cities, and are comparatively insignificant among
his forty or more volumes. Nor is much to be said of his first long
fiction, 'Neues Leben' (New Life).
—
But with Auf der Höhe (On the Heights), a philosophic romance
of court life in the capital and the royal country seat of a consid-



## p. 963 (#389) ############################################

BERTHOLD AUERBACH
963
erable German kingdom (by no means merely imaginary), inwoven
with a minute study of peasant life and character, Auerbach's popu-
lar reputation was established. His plan of making ethics the chief
end of a novel was here exhibited at its best; he never again showed
the same force of conception which got his imperfect literary art
forgiven. Another long novel, not less doctrinaire in scope, but deal
ing with quite different materials and problems, 'Das Landhaus am
Rhein' (The Villa on the Rhine), was issued in 1868; and was fol-
lowed by Waldfried,' a long, patriotic, and on the whole inert, study
of a German family from 1848 until the close of the Franco-Prussian
War.
<
>
In spite of his untiring industry, Auerbach produced little more of
consequence, though he wrote a new series of Black Forest sketches:
'Nach Dreissig Jahren (After Thirty Years: 1876); 'Der Forstmeister'
(The Head Forester: 1879); and 'Brigitta' (1880). The close of his life
was much embittered by the growth of the anti-Semitic sentiment;
and his residence in Germany was merely nominal. He died at
Cannes, France, in 1882.
'On the Heights' is doubtless Auerbach's best representative.
'The Villa on the Rhine' is in a lower key, with less appealing types,
and less attractive local color. Moreover, it is weighted with more
philosophizing, and its movement is slower. In On the Heights'
the emotional situations are strong. In spite of sentimentality, a true
feeling animates its technique. The atmosphere of a German royal
residence, as he reveals it, appears almost as heavy as the real thing.
Auerbach's humor is leaden; he finds it necessary to explain his own
attempts at it. But the peasant-nurse Walpurga, her husband Hansei,
and the aged grandmother in the family, are admirable delineations.
The heroine, Irma von Wildenort, is genuinely human.
The story
of her abrupt atonement for a lapse from her better self, the grad-
ual process of her fantastic expiation and of her self-redemption, --
through the deliberate sacrifice of all that belongs to her treacherous
past,- her successful struggle into a high ethical life and knowledge
of herself (the element which gives the book its force), offer much
that is consistent, and appealing and elevating to the conscience.
Auerbach crowds material into the book, tangles up too many
different skeins of plot, offers too many types to study and interests
to follow, and betrays a want of perspective in its construction. But
in spite of all its defects it is a novel that should not be forgotten.
For reflective readers it will always hold a charm, and its latent
strength is proved by its triumph over its own faults.


## p. 964 (#390) ############################################

964
BERTHOLD AUERBACH
THE FIRST MASS
From Ivo the Gentleman,' in 'Black Forest Village Stories>
ONE
NE Saturday afternoon the busy sound of hammer and adze
was heard on the green hill-top which served the good folks.
of Nordstetten as their open-air gathering-place. Valen-
tine the carpenter, with his two sons, was making a scaffolding,
designed to serve no less a purpose than that of an altar and a
pulpit. Gregory, the son of Christian the tailor, was to officiate.
at his first mass and preach his first sermon.
Ivo, Valentine's youngest son, a child of six years of age,
assisted his father with a mien which betokened that he consid-
ered his services indispensable. With his bare head and feet he
ran up and down the timbers as nimbly as a squirrel. When a
beam was being lifted, he cried, "Pry under! " as lustily as any
one, put his shoulder to the crowbar, and puffed as if nine-tenths
of the weight fell upon him. Valentine liked to see his little boy
employed. He would tell him to wind the twine on the reel, to
carry the tools where they were wanted, or to rake the chips into
a heap. Ivo obeyed all these directions with the zeal and devo-
tion of a self-sacrificing patriot. Once, when he perched upon the
end of a plank for the purpose of weighing it down, the motion
of the saw shook his every limb, and made him laugh aloud in
spite of himself; he would have fallen off but for the eagerness
with which he held on to his position and endeavored to perform
his task in the most workmanlike manner.
At last the scaffolding was finished. Lewis the saddler was
ready to nail down the carpets and hanging. Ivo offered to help
him too; but being gruffly repelled, he sat down upon his heap
of chips, and looked at the mountains, behind which the sun was
setting in a sea of fire. His father's whistle aroused him, and he
ran to his side.
"Father," said Ivo, "I wish I was in Hochdorf. "
"Why? "
"Because it's so near to heaven, and I should like to climb
up once. »
"You silly boy, it only seems as if heaven began there. From
Hochdorf it is a long way to Stuttgart, and from there it is a
long way to heaven yet.
"How long? "


## p. 965 (#391) ############################################

BERTHOLD AUERBACH
965
"Well, you can't get there until you die. "
Leading his little son with one hand, and carrying his tools in
the other, Valentine passed through the village. Washing and
scouring was going on everywhere, and chairs and tables stood
before the houses,- for every family expected visitors for the
great occasion of the morrow.
As Valentine passed Christian the tailor's, he held his hand to
his cap, prepared to take it off if anybody should look out.
nobody did so: the place was silent as a cloister. Some farmers'
wives were going in, carrying bowls covered with their aprons,
while others passed out with empty bowls under their arms.
They nodded to each other without speaking: they had brought
wedding-presents for the young clergyman, who was to be mar-
ried to his bride- the Church.
As the vesper-bell rang, Valentine released the hand of his
who quickly folded his hands; Valentine also brought his
hands together over his heavy tools and said an Ave.
Next morning a clear, bright day rose upon the village. Ivo
was dressed by his mother betimes in a new jacket of striped
Manchester cloth, with buttons which he took for silver, and a
newly-washed pair of leathern breeches. He was to carry the
crucifix. Gretchen, Ivo's eldest sister, took him by the hand and
led him into the street, "so as to have room in the house. " Hav-
ing enjoined upon him by no means to go back, she returned
hastily. Wherever he came he found the men standing in knots
in the road. They were but half dressed for the festival, having
no coats on, but displaying their dazzling white shirt-sleeves.
Here and there women or girls were to be seen running from
house to house without bodices, and with their hair half untied.
Ivo thought it cruel in his sister to have pushed him out of the
house as she had done. He would have been delighted to have
appeared like the grown folks,-first in negligée, and then in
full dress amid the tolling of bells and the clang of trumpets;
but he did not dare to return, or even to sit down anywhere,
for fear of spoiling his clothes. He went through the village
almost on tiptoe. Wagon after wagon rumbled in, bringing
farmers and farmers' wives from abroad; at the houses people
welcomed them, and brought chairs to assist them in getting
down. All the world looked as exultingly quiet and glad as a
community preparing to receive a hero who had gone forth from
their midst and was returning after a victory. From the church.


## p. 966 (#392) ############################################

966
BERTHOLD AUERBACH
to the hill-top the road was strewn with flowers and grass, which
sent forth aromatic odors. The squire was seen coming out of
Christian the tailor's, and only covered his head when he found
himself in the middle of the street. Soges had a new sword,
brightly japanned and glittering in the sun.
The squire's wife soon followed, leading her daughter Bar-
bara, who was but six years old, by the hand. Barbara was
dressed in bridal array. She wore the veil and the wreath upon
her head, and a beautiful gown. As an immaculate virgin, she
was intended to represent the bride of the young clergyman,
the Church.
At the first sound of the bell the people in shirt-sleeves dis-
appeared as if by magic. They retired to their houses to finish
their toilet: Ivo went on to the church.
Amid the ringing of all the bells, the procession at last issued
from the church-door. The pennons waved, the band of music
brought from Horb struck up, and the audible prayers of the
men and women mingled with the sound. Ivo, with the school-
master at his side, took the lead, carrying the crucifix. On the
hill the altar was finely decorated; the chalices and the lamps
and the spangled dresses of the saints flashed in the sun, and
the throng of worshipers covered the common and the adjoin-
ing fields as far as the eye could reach. Ivo hardly took courage
to look at the "gentleman," meaning the young clergyman, who,
in his gold-laced robe, and bare head crowned with a golden
wreath, ascended the steps of the altar with pale and sober
mien, bowing low as the music swelled, and folding his small
white hands upon his breast. The squire's Barbara, who car-
ried a burning taper wreathed with rosemary, had gone before
him and took her stand at the side of the altar. The mass
began; and at the tinkling of the bell all fell upon their faces,
and not a sound would have been heard, had not a flight of
pigeons passed directly over the altar with that fluttering and
chirping noise which always accompanies their motion through
the air. For all the world Ivo would not have looked up just
then; for he knew that the Holy Ghost was descending, to effect
the mysterious transubstantiation of the wine into blood and the
bread into flesh, and that no mortal eye can look upon Him
without being struck with blindness.
The chaplain of Horb now entered the pulpit, and solemnly
addressed the "permitiant. "


## p. 967 (#393) ############################################

BERTHOLD AUERBACH
967
Then the latter took his place. Ivo sat near by, on a stool;
with his right arm resting on his knee, and his chin upon his
hand, he listened attentively. He understood little of the ser-
mon; but his eyes hung upon the preacher's lips, and his mind
followed his intentions if not his thoughts.
When the procession returned to the church amid the re-
newed peal of the bells and triumphant strains of music, Ivo
clasped the crucifix firmly with both his hands; he felt as if
new strength had been given him to carry his God before him.
As the crowd dispersed, every one spoke in raptures of the
"gentleman" and of the happiness of the parents of such a son.
Christian the tailor and his wife came down the covered stairs
of the church-hill in superior bliss. Ordinarily they attracted.
little attention in the village; but on this occasion all crowded
around them with the greatest reverence, to present their con-
gratulations. The young clergyman's mother returned thanks
with tearful eyes; she could scarcely speak for joyous weeping.
Ivo heard his cousin, who had come over from Rexingen, say
that Gregory's parents were now obliged to address their son
with the formal pronoun "they," by which strangers and great
personages are spoken to, instead of the simple "thee and thou,"
by which German villagers converse with each other.
"Is that so, mother? " he asked.
"Of course," was the answer: "he's more than other folks
now. "
With all their enthusiasm, the good people did not forget
the pecuniary advantage gained by Christian the tailor.
It was
said that he need take no further trouble all his life. Cordele,
Gregory's sister, was to be her brother's housekeeper, and her
brother was a fortune to his family and an honor to all the
village.
Translation of Charles Goepp.
The following passages from 'On the Heights are reprinted by consent of
Henry Holt & Co. , holders of the copyright of the translation.
THE PEASANT-NURSE AND THE PRINCE
"THE
HERE, my boy! Now you've seen the sun. May you see it
for seven and seventy years to come, and when they've
run their course, may the Lord grant you a new lease of
life. Last night they lit millions of lamps for your sake. But


## p. 968 (#394) ############################################

968
BERTHOLD AUERBACH
they were nothing to the sun up in heaven, which the Lord him-
self lighted for you this very morning. Be a good boy, always,
so that you may deserve to have the sun shine on you. Yes,
now the angel's whispering to you. Laugh while you sleep!
That's right. There's one angel belongs to you on earth, and
that's your mother! And you're mine, too! You're mine, in-
deed! "
Thus spake Walpurga, the nurse, her voice soft, yet full of
emotion, while she gazed into the face of the child that lay in
her lap. Her soul was already swayed by that mysterious bond
of affection which never fails to develop itself in the heart of
the foster-mother. It is a noble trait in human nature, that we
love those on whom we can confer a kindness. Their whole
life gradually becomes interwoven with our own.
Walpurga became oblivious of herself and of all that was
dear to her in the cottage by the lake. She was now needed
here, where a young life had been assigned to her loving
charge.
She looked up at Mademoiselle Kramer, with beaming, eyes,
and met a joyful glance in return.
"It seems to me," said Walpurga, "that a palace is just like
a church. One has only good and pious thoughts here; and all
the people are so kind and frank. "
Mademoiselle Kramer suddenly smiled and replied:-
"My dear child—»
«< Don't call me 'child'! I'm not a child! I'm a mother! "
"But here, in the great world, you are only a child. A court
is a strange place. Some go hunting, others go fishing; one
builds, another paints; one studies a rôle, another a piece of
music; a dancer learns a new step, an author writes a new
book. Every one in the land is doing something—cooking or
baking, drilling or practicing, writing, painting, or dancing-
simply in order that the king and queen may be entertained. "
"I understand you," said Walpurga; and Mademoiselle Kra-
mer continued:-
"My family has been in the service of the court for sixteen
generations; "six would have been the right number, but six-
teen sounded so much better; -"my father is the governor of
the summer palace, and I was born there. I know all about the
court, and can teach you a great deal. "
"And I'll be glad to learn," interposed Walpurga.


## p. 969 (#395) ############################################

BERTHOLD AUERBACH
969
"Do you imagine that every one is kindly disposed towards
you?
Take my word for it, a palace contains people of all
sorts, good and bad.