No More Learning

In
less than a quarter of an hour we had left the town behind us.
"This does not appear to be a very good horse," said I to Anto-
nio, as we proceeded over the plain: "it is with difficulty that I
can make him move. "
"He is the swiftest horse in the Chim del Manró, brother,"
said Antonio; "at the gallop and at the speedy trot, there is no
IV-138


## p. 2194 (#392) ###########################################

2194
GEORGE BORROW
one to match him. But he is eighteen years old, and his joints
are stiff, especially of a morning; but let him once become
heated, and the genio del viejo comes upon him, and there is no
holding him in with bit or bridle. I bought that horse for the
affairs of Egypt, brother. "
About noon we arrived at a small village in the neighbor-
hood of a high lumpy hill. "There is no Caló house in this
place," said Antonio: "we will therefore go to the posada of the
Busné and refresh ourselves, man and beast. " We entered the
kitchen and sat down at the board, calling for wine and bread.
There were two ill-looking fellows in the kitchen smoking cigars.
I said something to Antonio in the Caló language.
"What is that I hear? " said one of the fellows, who was dis-
tinguished by an immense pair of mustaches. "What is that I
hear? Is it in Caló that you are speaking before me, and I a
chalan and national? Accursed gipsy, how dare you enter this
posada and speak before me in that speech? Is it not forbidden
by the law of the land in which we are, even as it is forbidden
for a gipsy to enter the mercado? I tell you what, friend, if
I hear another word of Caló come from your mouth, I will
cudgel your bones and send you flying over the house-tops with
a kick of my foot. "
(
"You would do right," said his companion; "the insolence of
these gipsies is no longer to be borne. When I am at Merida
or Badajoz I go to the mercado, and there in a corner stand
the accursed gipsies, jabbering to each other in a speech which
I understand not. 'Gipsy gentleman,' say I to one of them,
what will you have for that donkey? ' 'I will have ten dollars
for it, Caballero nacional,' says the gipsy: 'it is the best donkey
in all Spain. ' 'I should like to see its paces,' say I. 'That
you shall, most valorous! ' says the gipsy, and jumping upon its
back, he puts it to its paces, first of all whispering something
into its ear in Caló; and truly the paces of the donkey are most
wonderful, such as I have never seen before. I think it will
just suit me; and after looking at it awhile, I take out the
money and pay for it. 'I shall go to my house,' says the
gipsy; and off he runs. 'I shall go to my village,' say I, and
I mount the donkey. 'Vamonos,' say I, but the donkey won't
move. I give him a switch, but I don't get on the better for
that. What happens then, brother? The wizard no sooner
feels the prick than he bucks down, and flings me over his head


## p. 2195 (#393) ###########################################

GEORGE BORROW
2195
'He is gone to see his kindred
I just saw him running over
with the devil close behind
"
into the mire. I get up and look about me; there stands the
donkey staring at me, and there stand the whole gipsy canaille
squinting at me with their filmy eyes. 'Where is the scamp
who has sold me this piece of furniture? ' I shout.
'He is gone
to Granada, valorous,' says one.
among the Moors,' says another.
the field, in the direction of
him,' says a third. In a word, I am tricked. I wish to dispose
of the donkey: no one, however, will buy him; he is a Caló
donkey, and every person avoids him. At last the gipsies offer
thirty reals for him; and after much chaffering I am glad to get
rid of him at two dollars. It is all a trick, however; he returns
to his master, and the brotherhood share the spoil amongst
them: all which villainy would be prevented, in my opinion,
were the Caló language not spoken; for what but the word of
Caló could have induced the donkey to behave in such an unac-
countable manner? "
Both seemed perfectly satisfied with the justness of this con-
clusion, and continued smoking till their cigars were burnt to
stumps, when they arose, twitched their whiskers, looked at us
with fierce disdain, and dashing the tobacco-ends to the ground,
strode out of the apartment.
"Those people seem no friends to the gipsies," said I to
Antonio, when the two bullies had departed; "nor to the Caló
language either. "
"May evil glanders seize their nostrils," said Antonio: "they
have been jonjabadoed by our people. However, brother, you
did wrong to speak to me in Caló, in a posada like this: it is a
forbidden language; for, as I have often told you, the king has
destroyed the law of the Calés. Let us away, brother, or those
juntunes may set the justicia upon us. "
Towards evening we drew near to a large town or village.
"That is Merida," said Antonio, "formerly, as the Busné say, a
mighty city of the Corahai. We shall stay here to-night, and per-
haps for a day or two, for I have some business of Egypt to
transact in this place. Now, brother, step aside with the horse,
and wait for me beneath yonder wall. I must go before and see
in what condition matters stand. "
I dismounted from the horse, and sat down on a stone be-
neath the ruined wall to which Antonio had motioned me. The
sun went down, and the air was exceedingly keen; I drew close


## p. 2196 (#394) ###########################################

2196
GEORGE BORROW
around me an old tattered gipsy cloak with which my companion
had provided me, and being somewhat fatigued, fell into a doze
which lasted for nearly an hour.
"Is your worship the London Caloró? " said a strange voice
close beside me.
I started, and beheld the face of a woman peering under my
hat. Notwithstanding the dusk, I could see that the features
were hideously ugly and almost black; they belonged, in fact, to
a gipsy crone at least seventy years of age, leaning upon a
staff.
"Is your worship the London Caloró? » repeated she.
"I am he whom you seek," said I; "where is Antonio ? »
Curelando, curelando; baribustres curelós terela," said the
crone. "Come with me, Caloró of my garlochin, come with me
to my little ker; he will be there anon. "
I followed the crone, who led the way into the town, which
was ruinous and seemingly half deserted; we went up the
street, from which she turned into a narrow and dark lane,
and presently opened the gate of a large dilapidated house.
"Come in," said she.
"And the gras? " I demanded.
«< Bring the gras in too, my chabó, bring the gras in too;
there is room for the gras in my little stable. " We entered
a large court, across which we proceeded till we came to a wide
doorway. "Go in, my child of Egypt," said the hag; "go in,
that is my little stable. "
"The place is as dark as pitch," said I, "and may be a well
for what I know; bring a light, or I will not enter. "
"Give me the solabarri," said the hag, "and I will lead your
horse in, my chabó of Egypt - yes, and tether him to my little
manger. "
She led the horse through the doorway, and I heard her busy
in the darkness; presently the horse shook himself. "Grasti
terelamos," said the hag, who now made her appearance with
the bridle in her hand; "the horse has shaken himself, he is
not harmed by his day's journey; now let us go in, my Caloró,
into my little room. "
We entered the house, and found ourselves in a vast room,
which would have been quite dark but for a faint glow which
appeared at the farther end: it proceeded from a brasero, beside
which were squatted two dusky figures.


## p. 2197 (#395) ###########################################

GEORGE BORROW
2197
«<
"These are Callées," said the hag; one is my daughter and
the other is her chabi. Sit down, my London Caloró, and let us
hear you speak. "
I looked about for a chair, but could see none: at a short
distance, however, I perceived the end of a broken pillar lying
on the floor; this I rolled to the brasero, and sat down upon it.
"This is a fine house, mother of the gipsies," said I to the
hag, willing to gratify the desire she had expressed of hearing
me speak; "a fine house is this of yours, rather cold and damp,
though; it appears large enough to be a barrack for hundunares. "
"Plenty of houses in this foros, plenty of houses in Merida,
my London Caloró, some of them just as they were left by the
Corahanós. Ah! a fine people are the Corahanós; I often wish
myself in their chim once more. "
"How is this, mother? " said I; "have you been in the land
of the Moors? "
"Twice have I been in their country, my Caloró - twice have
I been in the land of the Corahai. The first time is more than
fifty years ago; I was then with the Sesé, for my husband was
a soldier of the Crallis of Spain, and Oran at that time belonged
to Spain. "
"You were not then with the real Moors," said I, "but only
with the Spaniards who occupied part of their country. "
"I have been with the real Moors, my London Caloró. Who
knows more of the real Moors than myself? About forty years
ago I was with my ro in Ceuta, for he was still a soldier of the
king; and he said to me one day, 'I am tired of this place,
where there is no bread and less water; I will escape and turn
Corahanó; this night I will kill my sergeant, and flee to the
camp of the Moor. ' 'Do so,' said I, 'my chabó, and as soon as
may be I will follow you and become a Corahani. ’
That same
night he killed his sergeant, who five years before had called
him Caló and cursed him; then running to the wall he dropped
from it, and amidst many shots he escaped to the land of the
Corahai. As for myself, I remained in the presidio of Ceuta as
a sutler, selling wine and repañí to the soldiers.
Two years
passed by, and I neither saw nor heard from my ro.
One day
there came a strange man to my cachimani; he was dressed like
a Corahanó, and yet he did not look like one; he looked more
like a callardo, and yet he was not a callardó either, though he
was almost black; and as I looked upon him, I thought he looked


## p. 2198 (#396) ###########################################

2198
GEORGE BORROW
something like the Errate; and he said to me, 'Zincali, chachipé! '
and then he whispered to me in queer language, which I could
scarcely understand, 'Your ro is waiting; come with me, my
little sister, and I will take you unto him. ' 'Where is he? ' said
I, and he pointed to the west, to the land of the Corahai, and
said, 'He is yonder away; come with me, little sister, the ro is
waiting. For a moment I was afraid, but I bethought me of
my husband, and I wished to be amongst the Corahai; so I took
the little parné I had, and locking up the cachimani, went with
the strange man. The sentinel challenged us at the gate, but I
gave him repañí, and he let us pass; in a moment we were in
the land of the Corahai. About a league from the town, beneath
a hill, we found four people, men and women, all very black
like the strange man, and we joined ourselves with them, and
they all saluted me, 'little sister. ' That was all I understood of
their discourse, which was very crabbed; and they took away my
dress and gave me other clothes, and I looked like a Corahani;
and away we marched for many days amidst deserts and small
villages, and more than once it seemed to me that I was amongst
the Errate, for their ways were the same. The men would
hokkawar with mules and asses, and the women told baji, and
after many days we came before a large town, and the black
man said, 'Go in there, little sister, and there you will find your
ro;' and I went to the gate, and an armed Corahanó stood
within the gate, and I looked in his face, and lo! it was my ro.
"Oh, what a strange town it was that I found myself in, full
of people who had once been Candoré, but had renegaded and
become Corahai! There were Sesé and Laloré, and men of other
nations, and amongst them were some of the Errate from my
own country; all were now soldiers of the Crallis of the Corahai,
and followed him to his wars; and in that town I remained with
my ro a long time, occasionally going out to him to the wars;
and I often asked him about the black men who had brought me
thither, and he told me that he had had dealings with them, and
that he believed them to be of the Errate. Well, brother, to be
short, my ro was killed in the wars, before a town to which the
king of the Corahai laid siege, and I became a piuli, and I
returned to the village of the renegades, as it was called, and
supported myself as well as I could; and one day, as I was sit-
ting weeping, the black man, whom I had never seen since the
day he brought me to my ro, again stood before me, and he said,


## p. 2199 (#397) ###########################################

GEORGE BORROW
2199
'Come with me, little sister, come with me; the ro is at hand;'
and I went with him, and beyond the gate in the desert was the
same party of black men and women which I had seen before.
'Where is my ro? ' said I. 'Here he is, little sister,' said the
black man, 'here he is; from this day I am the ro and you are
the romi. Come, let us go, for there is business to be done. '
"And I went with him, and he was my ro, and we lived
amongst the deserts, and hokkawar'd and choried and told baji;
and I said to myself, 'This is good; sure, I am amongst the
Errate in a better chim than my own. ' And I often said that
they were of the Errate, and then they would laugh and say that
it might be so, and that they were not Corahai, but they could
give no account of themselves.
"Well, things went on in this way for years, and I had three
chai by the black man; two of them died, but the youngest, who
is the Calli who sits by the brasero, was spared. So we roamed
about and choried and told baji; and it came to pass that once
in the winter time our company attempted to pass a wide and
deep river, of which there are many in the Chim del Corahai,
and the boat overset with the rapidity of the current, and all
our people were drowned, all but myself and my chabi, whom
I bore in my bosom. I had no friends amongst the Corahai,
and I wandered about the despoblados howling and lamenting till
I became half lili, and in this manner I found my way to the
coast, where I made friends with the captain of a ship, and
returned to this land of Spain. And now I am here, I often
wish myself back again amongst the Corahai. "
Here she commenced laughing loud and long; and when she
had ceased, her daughter and grandchild took up the laugh,
which they continued so long that I concluded they were all
lunatics.
Hour succeeded hour, and still we sat crouching over the
brasero, from which, by this time, all warmth had departed; the
glow had long since disappeared, and only a few dying sparks
were to be distinguished. The room or hall was now involved
in utter darkness; the women were motionless and still; I shiv-
ered and began to feel uneasy. "Will Antonio be here to-night? "
at length I demanded.
"No tenga usted cuidado, my London Caloró," said the gipsy
mother in an unearthly tone; "Pepindorio has been here some.
time. "


## p. 2200 (#398) ###########################################

2200
GEORGE BORROW
I was about to rise from my seat and attempt to escape from
the house, when I felt a hand laid upon my shoulder, and in a
moment I heard the voice of Antonio:
"Be not afraid; 'tis I, brother. We will have a light anon,
and then supper. "
The supper was rude enough, consisting of bread, cheese, and
olives; Antonio, however, produced a leathern bottle of excellent
wine. We dispatched these viands by the light of an earthen
lamp, which was placed upon the floor.
"Now," said Antonio to the youngest female, "bring me the
pajandi, and I will sing a gachapla. "
The girl brought the guitar, which with some difficulty the
gipsy tuned, and then, strumming it vigorously, he sang:-
"I stole a plump and bonny fowl,
But ere I well had dined,
The master came with scowl and growl,
And me would captive bind.
«<
My hat and mantle off I threw,
And scoured across the lea;
Then cried the beng with loud halloo,
'Where does the gipsy flee ? >»
He continued playing and singing for a considerable time, the
two younger females dancing in the meanwhile with unwearied
diligence, whilst the aged mother occasionally snapped her fingers
or beat time on the ground with her stick. At last Antonio sud-
denly laid down the instrument, exclaiming:—
"I see the London Caloró is weary; enough, enough,
morrow more thereof. We will now to the charipé. "
to-
"With all my heart," said I: "where are we to sleep? "
"In the stable," said he, "in the manger; however cold the
stable may be, we shall be warm enough in the bufa. "
We remained three days at the gipsies' house, Antonio de
parting early every morning on his mule, and returning late at
night. The house was large and ruinous, the only habitable
part of it with the exception of the stable being the hall, where
we had supped; and there the gipsy females slept at night, on
some mats and mattresses in a corner.
"A strange house is this," said I to Antonio, one morning as
he was on the point of saddling his mule, and departing,
supposed, on the affairs of Egypt; "a strange house and strange


## p. 2201 (#399) ###########################################

GEORGE BORROW
2201
people. That gipsy grandmother has all the appearance of a
sowanee. "
"All the appearance of one! " said Antonio; "and is she not
really one? She knows more crabbed things and crabbed words
than all the Errate betwixt here and Catalonia. She has been
amongst the wild Moors, and can make more draos, poisons, and
philtres than any one alive. She once made a kind of paste,
and persuaded me to taste, and shortly after I had done so my
soul departed from my body, and wandered through horrid for-
ests and mountains, amidst monsters and duendes, during one
entire night. She learned many things amidst the Corahai which
I should be glad to know. "
"Have you been long acquainted with her? " said I. "You
appear to be quite at home in this house. »
"Acquainted with her! " said Antonio. "Did not my own
brother marry the black Callí, her daughter, who bore him the
chabí, sixteen years ago, just before he was hanged by the
Busné ? »
In the afternoon I was seated with the gipsy mother in the
hall; the two Callées were absent telling fortunes about the town
and neighborhood, which was their principal occupation.
"Are you married, my London Caloró? " said the old woman
to me. Are you a ro? »
«<
Myself -Wherefore do you ask, O Dai de los Calés?
Gipsy Mother-It is high time that the lacha of the chabt
were taken from her, and that she had a ro. You can do no
better than take her for romi, my London Caloró.
Myself I am a stranger in this land, O mother of the gip-
sies, and scarcely know how to provide for myself, much less
for a romi.
Gipsy Mother-She wants no one to provide for her, my
London Caloró: she can at any time provide for herself and her
ro. She can hokkawar, tell baji, and there are few to equal her
at stealing à pastesas. Were she once at Madrilati, where they
tell me you are going, she would make much treasure; therefore
take her thither, for in this foros she is nahi, as it were, for
there is nothing to be gained: but in the foros baro it would be
another matter; she would go dressed in lachipe and sonacai,
whilst you would ride about on your black-tailed gra; and when
you had got much treasure, you might return hither and live
like a Crallis, and all the Errate of the Chim del Manró should


## p. 2202 (#400) ###########################################

2202
GEORGE BORROW
bow down their heads to you. What say you, my London Caloró;
what say you to my plan?
Myself - Your plan is a plausible one, mother, or at least
some people would think so; but I am, as you are aware, of
another chim, and have no inclination to pass my life in this
country.
Gipsy Mother-Then return to your own country, my Caloró;
the chabí can cross the paní. Would she not do business in Lon-
don with the rest of the Caloré? Or why not go to the land of
the Corahai? In which case I would accompany you; I and my
daughter, the mother of the chabi.
Myself And what should we do in the land of the Corahai?
It is a poor and wild country, I believe.
Gipsy Mother-The London Caloró asks me what we could
do in the land of the Corahai! Aromali! I almost think that
I am speaking to a lilipendi. Are there not horses to chore?
Yes, I trow there are, and better ones than in this land, and
asses, and mules. In the land of the Corahai you must hokka-
war and chore even as you must here, or in your own country,
or else you are no Caloró. Can you not join yourselves with
the black people who live in the despoblados? Yes, surely; and
glad they would be to have among them the Errate from Spain.
and London. I am seventy years of age, but I wish not to die
in this chim, but yonder, far away, where both my roms are
sleeping. Take the chabi, therefore, and go to Madrilati to win
the parné; and when you have got it, return, and we will give a
banquet to all the Busné in Merida, and in their food I will mix.
drao, and they shall eat and burst like poisoned sheep.
And when they have eaten we will leave them, and away to the
land of the Moor, my London Caloró.
During the whole time that I remained at Merida I stirred
not once from the house; following the advice of Antonio, who
informed me that it would not be convenient. My time lay
rather heavily on my hands, my only source of amusement con
sisting in the conversation of the women, and in that of Antonio
when he made his appearance at night. In these tertulias the
grandmother was the principal spokeswoman, and astonished my
ears with wonderful tales of the land of the Moors, prison
escapes, thievish feats, and one or two poisoning adventures, in
which she had been engaged, as she informed me, in her early
youth.
•


## p. 2203 (#401) ###########################################

JUAN BOSCAN
2203
There was occasionally something very wild in her gestures
and demeanor; more than once I observed her, in the midst of
much declamation, to stop short, stare in vacancy, and thrust
out her palms as if endeavoring to push away some invisible
substance; she goggled frightfully with her eyes, and once sank
back in convulsions, of which her children took no further notice
than observing that she was only lili, and would soon come to
herself.
JUAN BOSCAN
(1493-P1540)
HE reign of Juan the Second of Spain (1406-1454), character-
ized as it was by a succession of conspiracies and internal
commotions, represents also one of the most important
epochs in the history of Spanish poetry, which up to that period had
found expression almost exclusively in the crude though spirited his-
torical and romantic ballads of anonymous origin: Iliads without a
Homer, as Lope de Vega called them. The first to attempt a reform
in Castilian verse was the Marquis of Villena (died 1434), who intro-
duced the allegory and a tendency to imitate classical models; and
although he himself left nothing of consequence, his influence is
plainly revealed in the works of his far greater pupils and successors,
the Marquis of Santillana and Juan de Mena. Strangely enough, the
reigns of Ferdinand and Isabella, and of the Austrian Charles the
Fifth, covering the most brilliant and momentous period in Spanish
history, are yet marked by comparative stagnation in letters until
after the first quarter of the sixteenth century.
During the greater
part of this period the increasing pomp and formality of the court
rendered the poetry correspondingly artificial and insincere.
It was
not in fact until after many years of constant intercourse with Rome,
Naples, and Florence, while the bulk of the noble youth of Spain
resorted to the universities of those cities for higher education, that
a wide-spread and profound admiration for Italian culture and refine-
ment began to pave the way for another and more important revo-
lution in Castilian poetry than that inaugurated by Villena.
Juan Boscan Almogaver, who was the first of his nation to compose
verses after the manner of Petrarch, and whose successors in the
sixteenth century include some
ne of the most brilliant and inspired
lyrists of Spain, was born in 1493 at Barcelona, a city which had
witnessed the recent triumphs of the Provençal Troubadours. Boscan,


## p. 2204 (#402) ###########################################

2204
JUAN BOSCAN
however, from the beginning of his career, preferred to write in Cas-
tilian rather than in the Limosin dialect. Of patrician descent, and
possessed of ample means, he entered the army like the majority of
the young nobles of his age. After a brief but honorable service as
a soldier he traveled extensively abroad, which led to his becoming
deeply interested in the literature and art of Italy. Meanwhile he
had produced verses in the ancient lyric style, but with only a mod-
erate measure of success.
The year 1526 found Boscan at Granada, where Andrea Navagiero,
Ambassador from Venice to the Court of Charles the Fifth, was then
in residence. A common love of letters drew the two young men
into closest intimacy with each other. "Being with Navagiero there
one day," says Boscan in his 'Letter to the Duquesa de Soma,' "and
discoursing with him about matters of wit and letters, and especially
about the different forms they take in different languages, he asked
me why I did not make an experiment in Castilian of sonnets and
the other forms of verse used by good Italian authors; and not only
spoke to me of it thus slightly, but urged me to do it. . . . And
thus I began to try this kind of verse. At first I found it somewhat
difficult; for it is of a very artful construction, and in many particu
lars different from ours. But afterwards it seemed to me- perhaps
from the love we naturally bear to what is our own-that I began
to succeed very well; and so I went on little by little with increas-
ing zeal. " Little dreamed the Venetian diplomat that, owing to his
friendly advice, a school was destined to arise shortly in the poetry
of Spain which would by no means have ceased to exist after the
lapse of nearly four centuries. From that day Boscan devoted him-
self to the exclusive composition of verses in the Italian measure,
undeterred by the bitter opposition of the partisans of the old school.
The incomparable Garcilaso de la Vega, then scarcely past his major-
ity, warmly supported the innovation of his beloved friend, and soon.
far surpassed Boscan himself as a writer of sonnets and canzones.
The Barcelonese poet spent the remainder of his life in compara-
tive retirement, although he appeared occasionally at court, and at
one time superintended the education of the young Duke of Alva,
whose name afterwards became one of such terror in the annals of
the Netherlands. Boscan's death took place at Perpignan about 1540.
An edition of Boscan's poems, together with those of his friend
Garcilaso, was published at Barcelona in 1543. The collection is
divided into four books, three of which are devoted to the produc-
tions of the elder poet. The first consists of his early efforts in the
old style, songs and ballads-'Canciones y Coplas. ' The second and
third books contain ninety-three sonnets and canzones; a long poem
on Hero and Leander in blank verse; an elegy and two didactic


## p. 2205 (#403) ###########################################

JUAN BOSCAN ·
2205
epistles in terza rima, and a half-narrative, half-allegorical poem in
one hundred and thirty-five octavo stanzas. The sonnets and can-
zones are obvious imitations of Petrarch; yet at the same time they
are stamped with a spirit essentially Spanish, and occasionally evince
a deep passion and melody of their own, although they may lack the
subtle fascination of their exquisite models. The 'Allegory,' with its
cleverly contrasted courts of Love and Jealousy, suggests the airy,
graceful humor of Ariosto, and is perhaps the most agreeable and
original of all Boscan's works. The 'Epistle to Mendoza' is con-
ceived in the manner of Horace, and amidst a fund of genial philo-
sophic comment, contains a charming picture of the poet's domestic
happiness. He also left a number of translations from the classics.
While in no sense a great poet, Boscan united simplicity, dignity,
and classical taste in a remarkable degree; and, inclined as he
seemed to entirely banish the ancient form of verse, he yet beyond
question introduced a kind of poetry which was developed to a high
degree of perfection in the Castilian tongue, and which may be
studied with keen delight at this day in some of the noblest poetical
monuments of Spanish literature.
The best modern edition of Boscan's works is published under the
title of Las Obras de Juan Bosćan' (Madrid, 1875).
ON THE DEATH OF GARCILASO
TELL
ELL me, dear Garcilaso,- thou
Who ever aim'dst at Good,
And in the spirit of thy vow,
So swift her course pursued
That thy few steps sufficed to place
The angel in thy loved embrace,
Won instant, soon as wooed,
Why took'st thou not, when winged to flee
From this dark world, Boscan with thee?
Why, when ascending to the star
Where now thou sitt'st enshrined,
Left'st thou thy weeping friend afar,
Alas! so far behind?
Oh, I do think, had it remained
With thee to alter aught ordained
By the Eternal Mind,
Thou wouldst not on this desert spot
Have left thy other self forgot!


## p. 2206 (#404) ###########################################

2206
JUAN BOSCAN
For if through life thy love was such
As still to take a pride
In having me so oft and much
Close to thy envied side,--
I cannot doubt, I must believe,
Thou wouldst at least have taken leave
Of me; or, if denied,
Have come back afterwards, unblest
Till I too shared thy heavenly rest.
Translation of Wipfen.
A PICTURE OF DOMESTIC HAPPINESS
From Epistle to Mendoza
T
Is peace that makes a happy life,-
And that is mine through my sweet wife;
Beginning of my soul, and end,
I've gained new being through this friend;-
She fills each thought and each desire,
Up to the height I would aspire.
This bliss is never found by ranging;
Regret still springs from saddest changing;
Such loves, and their beguiling pleasures,
Are falser still than magic treasures,
Which gleam at eve with golden color,
And change to ashes ere the morrow.
-
But now each good that I possess,
Rooted in truth and faithfulness,
Imparts delight to every sense;
For erst they were a mere pretense,
And long before enjoyed they were,
They changed their smiles to grisly care.
Now pleasures please; love being single,
Evils with its delights ne'er mingle.
And thus, by moderation bounded,
I live by my own goods surrounded,
Among my friends, my table spread
With viands we may eat nor dread;
And at my side my sweetest wife,
Whose gentleness admits no strife,-


## p. 2207 (#405) ###########################################

JUAN BOSCAN
2207
Except of jealousy the fear,
Whose soft reproaches more endear;
Our darling children round us gather,-
Children who will make me grandfather.
And thus we pass in town our days,
Till the confinement something weighs;
Then to our village haunt we fly,
Taking some pleasant company,-
While those we love not never come
Anear our rustic, leafy home.
For better 'tis to philosophize,
And learn a lesson truly wise
From lowing herd and bleating flock,
Than from some men of vulgar stock;
And rustics, as they hold the plough,
May often good advice bestow.
Of love, too, we may have the joy:
For Phoebus as a shepherd-boy
Wandered once among the clover,
Of some fair shepherdess the lover;
And Venus wept, in rustic bower,
Adonis turned to purple flower,
And Bacchus 'midst the mountains drear
Forgot the pangs of jealous fear;
And nymphs that in the water play
('Tis thus that ancient fables say),
And Dryads fair among the trees,
Fain the sprightly Fauns would please.
So in their footsteps follow we,-
My wife and I, as fond and free,
Love in our thoughts and in our talk;
Direct we slow our sauntering walk
To some near murmuring rivulet,
Where 'neath a shady beech we sit,
Hand clasped in hand, and side by side, -
With some sweet kisses, too, beside,
Contending there, in combat kind,
Which best can love with constant mind.
――
―――
Thus our village life we live,
And day by day such joys receive;
-


## p. 2208 (#406) ###########################################

2208
JUAN BOSCAN
Till, to change the homely scene,
Lest it pall while too serene,
To the gay city we remove,
Where other things there are to love;
And graced by novelty, we find
The city's concourse to our mind;
While our new coming gives a joy
Which ever staying might destroy.
We spare all tedious compliment;
Yet courtesy with kind intent,
Which savage tongues alone abuse,
Will often the same language use.
And Monleon, our dearest guest,
Will raise our mirth by many a jest;
For while his laughter rings again,
Can we to echo it refrain?
And other merriment is ours,
To gild with joy the lightsome hours.
But all too trivial would it look,
Written down gravely in a book:
And it is time to say adieu,
Though more I have to write to you.
Another letter this shall tell:
So now, my dearest friend, farewell.


## p. 2209 (#407) ###########################################

2209
JACQUES BÉNIGNE BOSSUET
(1627-1704)
BY ADOLPHE COHN
ACQUES BENIGNE BOSSUET, sacred orator, historian, theologian,
and controversialist, was born in Dijon, capital of the then
Burgundy, on September 27th, 1627. There is no question
but he is the greatest Catholic divine whom France ever knew, and
one of the greatest, some say the greatest, of prose writers and ora-
tors of that country. His importance in the literary history of
France is due, moreover, not simply to the high excellence of his
productions, but fully as much to their rep-
resentative character. The power that was
wielded with absolute authority by Louis
XIV. found in Bossuet the theorist who
gave it a philosophical basis, and justified
to the Frenchmen of the seventeenth cen-
tury the conditions under which they lived.
The future educator of Louis XIV. 's
son sprang, like most of the great French-
men of that time, from the upper ranks
of the bourgeoisie. The Bossuet family had
been for a long time honorably connected
with the legal profession and the judici-
ary: the father of Jacques Bénigne was in
1627 a counselor practicing before the "Parlement de Dijon," where
his own father had sat as "Conseiller," or Associate Justice. Later
in life he was himself called to a seat on the bench, when a new
Parlement was organized in the city of Metz for the province of
Lorraine (1638). Ten years later (January 24th, 1648) Bossuet, who
had received his education partly from the Jesuits of Dijon, partly
in the celebrated Collège de Navarre in Paris, and who had been
shriven for the Catholic priesthood when only eight years of age,
made what may be called his first public appearance when he de-
fended his first thesis in theology. With this important event of his
life we find connected the name of the most brilliant Frenchman
of that time, the celebrated Prince de Condé, - famous already by
many victories, though hardly twenty-six years of age, - who attended
the disputation and had allowed the young theologian to dedicate
his thesis to him. Thirty-nine years later, after a long period of
—

BOSSUET
IV-139


## p. 2210 (#408) ###########################################

2210
JACQUES BÉNIGNE BOSSUET
close friendship, their names were again associated when the illus-
trious Bishop of Meaux delivered the funeral oration of the great
warrior, and announced, at the close of a magnificent eulogy, that
this would be the last occasion on which he would devote his oratory
to the praises of any man; a promise which he kept, though he out-
lived his friend for no less than seventeen years.
Bossuet's period of study lasted until the year 1652, when at the
age of twenty-five he was appointed Archdeacon of Sarrebourg. By
virtue of his position he thenceforward, for no less than seven years,
resided in Metz, a city whose peculiar position, especially in religious
matters, exerted a powerful influence over the direction of his whole
intellectual life. He found there what was very rare then in France,
representatives of three religions. In addition to the Catholics to
whom he was to minister, there were in Metz numerous Protestants-
both Lutherans, and Calvinists or Presbyterians,- and a not inconsid-
erable number of Jews; and the city was used to continuous theologi-
cal controversy between minister, rabbi, and priest. The Protestants
of Metz received the teachings of two brilliant ministers, David An-
cillon and Paul Ferri, the latter of whom soon published a Catechism
which was considered by the whole body of French Protestantism the
clearest exposition of its doctrines. The Catholic clergy of France
had then not yet renounced the hope of bringing all the inhabitants
of the country to place themselves voluntarily under the spiritual
guidance of Rome; and the conversions that were announced from
time to time from the upper ranks both of Protestantism and Juda-
ism to a certain degree justified such a hope.
Bossuet, while constantly improving his knowledge of the writings
of the Fathers, especially of St. Augustine, threw himself into the
contest with characteristic energy. As against the Jews he tried
to demonstrate that the coming of Christ is clearly foretold in the
Prophecies. He thus became more familiar with the Old Testament
than any other Catholic theologian of his time, and so far molded his
style on that of the Bible that it soon became difficult to distinguish
in his productions that which came out of the sacred writings from
the utterances which belonged only to him. This was done, however,
strange to say, without any knowledge of the Hebrew language.
Bossuet never read the Bible except in Greek or Latin. There was
no good French version of the Bible; and it may be stated here that
there is none to the present day which occupies in the French lan-
guage anything like the position held in English by the Bible of
King James, or in German by Luther's version.
His attitude in regard to the Protestants is more interesting,
because more characteristic of the time in which he lived.
France
in the seventeenth century had become convinced that harmony,


## p. 2211 (#409) ###########################################

JACQUES BÉNIGNE BOSSUET
22II
unity, fixedness, are the clearest manifestations of truth, the best
guarantees of peace, happiness, and prosperity; that variety and
change are signs of error and harbingers of disaster. Bossuet's
whole effort in his controversy with Protestantism was directed
towards demonstrating that Protestantism lacks and that Catholicism
possesses the traits which were considered by his contemporaries to
clearly belong to truth; and as his opponents were not unwilling
to follow him on his chosen ground, as they never for a moment
denied his main proposition,- his statement of the characteristics of
truth,—as he even managed during the controversy to bring about a
number of conversions to Catholicism, he left Metz fully convinced
that he was waging a successful warfare upon unassailable ground.
He had been in Paris less than a year when an event happened
which made him doubly sure of the soundness of his position, and
tenfold increased his belief in the ultimate victory of his Church
over all other denominations. The Commonwealth of England col-
lapsed, and Charles II. was called to the throne from which his
father had been hurled by Oliver Cromwell. Nothing can give any
idea of the shock experienced by France on hearing of the develop-
ment and success of the Great Rebellion in England. No Frenchman
at that time understood what the English Constitution was. The
course of French history had led the people of France to put all the
strength they possessed in the hands of their kings, and to treat as
a public enemy any one who resisted, or even attempted to limit in
any way, the royal authority. To people holding such opinions the
English nation after the month of January, 1649, appeared as a nation
of parricides. And the feeling was intensified by the fact that the
wife of the beheaded king, Henrietta Maria, was a sister of the King
of France, a daughter of the beloved Henry IV. , whose death by
Ravaillac's dagger was still mourned by every French patriot. The
triumph of Cromwell, the proud position which England occupied in
Europe during his protectorate, left however hardly any hope that
the rebellious nation would ever acknowledge the errors of her ways;
and lo! in a moment, without any effort on his part, without any
struggle, the dead king's son resumed his rights, and every one who
had been in arms against him lay prostrate at his feet. The same
nation that had rebelled against the levying of the "ship money"
and the proceedings of the Star Chamber allowed Charles II. almost
as absolute an authority as ever the King of France possessed. Once
cured of her political errors, was England not to be soon cured of
her theological errors? After repenting her rebellion against the
King, was she not to repent her rebellion against the Pope? Such
were the questions which Bossuet, which the whole of France, began
to ask. Or rather, these were to them no longer questions: the
people of France began to look across the Channel with confident


## p. 2212 (#410) ###########################################

2212
JACQUES BÉNIGNE BOSSUET
expectation of a religious counter-revolution. The collapse of the
Commonwealth could not but be followed by the collapse of the
Reformation.
When Louis XIV. , after Cardinal Mazarin's death, took in his own
hands the management of the affairs of the State; when the marriage
of the brilliant Henrietta of England with the Duke of Orleans made
the sister of the English King a sister-in-law to the King of France;
when triumph after triumph on the field of war, of diplomacy, of
literature, of art, added to the power and glory of France, which
had never swerved in her allegiance either to King or Church, — the
feeling grew that only in unity of Faith, Law, and King were truth
and prosperity to be found by nations. The saying "Une foi, une
loi, un roi" (one faith, one law, one king), which may be said to
sum up Bossuet's religious, social, and political beliefs, seemed to all
an incontrovertible and self-evident axiom.
-
These were the times when Bossuet's utterances grew in power
and magnificence. He was heard in a number of Parisian churches;
he was heard at court, where he several times was appointed preacher
either for Advent or Lent; he delivered panegyrics of saints, and
was called upon to eulogize in death those who had held the highest
rank in life. He had just delivered the most splendid and the most
touching of his funeral orations, those on Henrietta of France, widow
of Charles I. of England (November 16th, 1669), and less than a year
later, on her unfortunate daughter, Henrietta of England, Duchess
of Orleans (August 21st, 1670), when the King, at the request of the
upright Duke de Montausier, called him to court from the bishopric
of Condom to which he had been raised, and intrusted to him the
education of his son and heir-apparent, the Dauphin of France.
Bossuet's royal pupil never reigned. He died in 1711, four years
before his father's death: and it must be admitted that during the
thirty-one years that elapsed between the moment when he came out
of Bossuet's hands and the end of his life, he gave no evidence of
being anything except a very commonplace sort of a man. No such
halo surrounds him as surrounds his unfortunate son, the Duke of
Burgundy, whose death two years after that of the Dauphin was
mourned as a public calamity. Whether Bossuet's failure to make
a great prince out of the Dauphin was due to a faulty system of
education or to the unresponsive nature of the pupil, can hardly be
considered to-day a matter of great interest. But French literature
was certainly the gainer by the appointment of Bossuet to the post
of tutor to the Prince. Three of his most remarkable works-his
'Discourse upon Universal History,' his Policy according to the
Holy Writ,' and his Treatise on the Knowledge of God and Man'-
were written especially for the Dauphin, and read by him as text-
books a long time before their publication. The opening sentence of
-


## p. 2213 (#411) ###########################################

JACQUES BÉNIGNE BOSSUET
2213
the 'Discourse' tells us clearly the author's purpose: "Were history
useless to other men, it would still be necessary to have it studied
by princes. "
In 1680 Bossuet left the Dauphin, who then married a Bavarian
princess, and one year later he was called to the bishopric of Meaux.
Louis XIV. was then taking steps leading to the important and fatal
venture by which three years later he repealed the Edict of Nantes,
and forbade the existence in France of the Protestant religion. No
one can deny Bossuet's share in determining the king to follow a pol-
icy so fatal to the interests of France, but at the same time so much
in accord with the views of Rome. A natural outcome would have
been the raising of Bossuet, who was certainly then the greatest ora-
tor, the greatest writer, and the greatest theologian in the Catholic
clergy, to the Cardinalate. Still Bossuet was never a cardinal.
The explanation lies in Bossuet's conduct in the year 1682. The
King of France in that year called together a General Assembly of
the clergy of France, a kind of National Council. His object was to
have the clergy assert its national character, and to state that in
civil matters it was subject not to the Pope, but to the King. The
various statements to that effect constitute what is known as 'The
Liberties of the Gallican Church. ' The statements were adopted
after being drafted by Bossuet, who had at the opening of the ses-
sions delivered before the Assembly his celebrated 'Sermon on the
Unity of the Church,' the main part of which is an eloquent defense
of the above-stated views. France was too powerful then for the see
of Rome not to yield, but no favors were thenceforth to be expected
for the spokesman of the French national clergy.
Still the great divine continued his efforts, and in 1688 he put
forth the most complete and masterly exposition of his beliefs, his
'History of the Variations of the Protestant Churches. ' The Revo-
lution of 1688-89 in England did not in the least, sad though it
seemed, weaken his faith in the ultimate triumph of Catholicism. In
France at that time the English revolution was not considered an
assertion by the people of political and religious rights, but the
carrying out of a detestable family conspiracy of a daughter and
son-in-law with their father's enemy. This better than anything else
explains the hatred which was harbored against William III. , and
which found expression in the works even of as free-minded a writer
as La Bruyère. It is during the period of the fiercest struggle
between Louis XIV. and William III. that Bossuet carried on with
the German philosopher Leibnitz a series of negotiations, the object
of which was the return to Catholicism of Protestant Germany. We
need hardly state that the negotiations utterly failed.
In another controversy which occupied Bossuet's last years he was
entirely successful. The most eloquent of his disciples, Fénélon, then


## p. 2214 (#412) ###########################################

2214
JACQUES BÉNIGNE BOSSUET
Archbishop of Cambrai, seemed to him to have fallen into dangerous
errors. He had adopted the mystic doctrine of Quietism, which had
been made known to him first by an erratic woman, Madame Guyon.
Bossuet determined that the eloquent archbishop must be compelled
to recant. A number of works were published by him in support of
his position, the most important one being his 'Relation on Quiet-
ism'; and he did not rest until the Pope had condemned his rival,
and Fénélon had submitted to censure in his own cathedral at Cam-
brai. Some accuse Bossuet of too much harshness in the contest.
The Pope himself was reported to have said, "The Archbishop of
Cambrai sinned by too much love of God, the Bishop of Meaux by
too little love of his fellow-man. "
Bossuet was then a very old man, but neither growing age nor
the care that he took of what he considered the general interests of
Catholic Christianity ever kept him from giving the closest attention
to the spiritual government of his flock. He was a model bishop.
He died April 12th, 1704, aged seventy-six years, six months, and
sixteen days.
Bossuet was a very prolific writer. In the best edition, that of
Abbé Caron, begun in Versailles in 1815, his writings fill not less
than forty-one volumes. But it must be stated at once that a great
deal of this production belongs decidedly more to theology than to
French literature. Some of it is not even in French, but in Latin;
for instance, Bossuet's letter to the Pope on the subject of the edu-
cation of the Dauphin. Although in French, such works as the
Treatise on Communion' or the 'Explanation of John the Baptist's
Revelation' are decidedly outside the pale of literature, as the word
is usually understood. We shall mention here only those works of
Bossuet which, by virtue of their perfect form and the accessibility
of the subject to the general reader, are to this day more or less
familiar to the best educated people in France.
The first to be mentioned among these are the 'Sermons,' the
'Funeral Orations,' and the Discourse upon Universal History. '
Bossuet's sermons undoubtedly were among his most perfect pro-
ductions. He was a born orator; his majestic bearing, his melodious
and powerful voice, his noble gestures, made the magnificent sen-
tences, the beautiful and striking imagery of his speeches, doubly
impressive. Unfortunately, with only a few exceptions Bossuet's ser-
mons have reached us in a very imperfect form. He did not, as a
rule, fully write them, and the art of taking down verbatim the
utterances of public speakers had not yet been invented. The ser-
mon On the Unity of the Church' we possess because Bossuet
had committed it to writing before delivering it; other impressive
sermons, those on 'Death,' on the Conversion of the Sinner,' on
<Providence,' on the 'Duties of Kings,' etc. , have reached us in a
(


## p. 2215 (#413) ###########################################

JACQUES BÉNIGNE BOSSUET
2215
sufficiently correct form to give us an idea of Bossuet's eloquence:
but the reader who really wishes to know the great sacred orator
of Louis XIV. 's reign had better turn at once to the Funeral Ora-
tions. '
Bossuet's funeral orations were prepared with great care. They
were delivered as a rule several months after the death of the per-
son to be eulogized, as part of a religious ceremony in which a mass
was said for the repose of his soul.
Bossuet delivered eleven funeral orations, one of which - that of
Anne of Austria, widow of Louis XIII. and mother of Louis XIV,—
is lost. Of the other ten, four are youthful productions and deal
with people of comparatively small importance. Six remain that are
known as the great funeral orations, and they were delivered between
November 16th, 1669, and March 10th, 1687. They are those on
Henrietta of France, Queen of England; Henrietta of England,
Duchess of Orleans; Maria Theresa of Spain, Queen of France; Anne
of Gonzaga and Clèves, Princess of the Palatinate; Michel Le Tellier,
High Chancellor of France; and Louis de Bourbon, Prince of Condé.
The most remarkable of these are the first two and the last one.
In the funeral oration on Henrietta of France, Bossuet had just the
kind of subject which he was best fitted to treat, and it must be
considered his masterpiece. It presents in magnificent style, in
pompous development, a complete exposition of his historical and
political theories, together with a strikingly vivid account of the
great English rebellion. His portraits of Charles I. and Oliver Crom-
well-the one, of course, altogether too enthusiastic, the other too
- stand out in as bold relief as the paintings of Van Dyck or
Velasquez. His theory of revolutions, which he considers the punish-
ments inflicted by God upon sovereigns for violations of His law, is
presented with a wealth of illustrations which was simply overwhelm-
ing for the audience that listened to it. It remains to this day one
of the most plausible, as it will remain forever one of the most elo-
quent pieces of historical and theological reasoning.
-
severe
In the funeral oration on Henrietta of England we find little of
history, still less of politics. Here we have a domestic catastrophe
of appalling suddenness: a brilliant woman, the worshiped centre of
the most brilliant court, one to whom the speaker himself was most
tenderly attached, so abruptly snatched away by death that the
suspicion of foul play at once arose and has not to this day been en-
tirely dispelled. Nowhere has Bossuet, nor perhaps any other orator,
so powerfully depicted the uncertainty of everything human. The
closeness with which he treated his subjects is well illustrated by an
anecdote that is connected with this oration. Only two or three
hours before her death, when already conscious of her desperate
position, the unfortunate princess had directed that an emerald ring


## p. 2216 (#414) ###########################################

2216
JACQUES BÉNIGNE BOSSUET
of hers should be after her death handed to the great preacher.
"What a pity," he was told, "that such an incident cannot find place
in a funeral oration! "-"Why not? " he answered. When he deliv-
ered the oration, the emerald ring was on one of the fingers of his
right hand; and when speaking of the princess's virtues and charm-
ing qualities, he alluded to the art of giving, in which she signally
excelled. "And this art,” he went on, “never deserted her, not even,
I know it, in the throes of death," at the same time raising his right
hand and placing the precious jewel in full view of the audience.
-
The funeral oration on the Prince de Condé shows us how he
triumphed over difficulties. He was a warm friend and ardent ad-
mirer of the Prince, and at the same time a devoted subject of the
King, rebellion against whom he considered a very grievous sin. Yet
the Prince had for years been a rebel against the King during the
wars of the Fronde, and had continued in the ranks of the hostile
Spaniards even after all the other rebels had submitted to the royal
authority. After conducting his narrative down to the time when the
Prince, still a faithful subject, was unjustly imprisoned by order of
Cardinal Mazarin, — "And," he goes on, since I have to speak of
these things over which I would fain keep eternally silent, until this
fatal imprisonment he had not even dreamed that anything could be
attempted against the State. . .