No More Learning

You say that is a superstitious blood. He
was uneducated. You say that makes a man narrow-minded.
He was a Catholic. Many say that is but another name for
intolerance. And yet―negro, Catholic, slave - he took his place
by the side of Roger Williams, and said to his committee:
"Make it the first line of my Constitution that I know no differ-
ence between religious beliefs. "
Now, blue-eyed Saxon, proud of your race, go back with me
to the commencement of the century, and select what statesman
you please. Let him be either American or European; let him
have a brain the result of six generations of culture; let him
have the ripest training of university routine; let him add to it
the better education of practical life; crown his temples with the
silver of seventy years, -and show me the man of Saxon lin-
eage for whom his most sanguine admirer will wreathe a laurel
rich as embittered foes have placed on the brow of this negro:
rare military skill, profound knowledge of human nature, content
to blot out all party distinctions and trust a State to the blood of
its sons,-anticipating Sir Robert Peel fifty years, and taking his
station by the side of Roger Williams before any Englishman or
American had won the right;—and yet this is the record which
the history of rival States makes up for this inspired black of
St. Domingo.
It was 1801. The Frenchmen who lingered on the island
described its prosperity and order as almost incredible. You
might trust a child with a bag of gold to go from Samana to
Port-au-Prince without risk. Peace was in every household; the
valleys laughed with fertility; culture climbed the mountains;
the commerce of the world was represented in its harbors. At
this time Europe concluded the Peace of Amiens, and Napoleon
took his seat on the throne of France. He glanced his eyes
across the Atlantic, and with a single stroke of his pen reduced.
Cayenne and Martinique back into chains. He then said to his


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>>>
Council, "What shall I do with St. Domingo? The slavehold-
ers said, "Give it to us. Napoleon turned to the Abbé Gré-
goire: "What is your opinion? " "I think those men would
change their opinions if they changed their skins. " Colonel
Vincent, who had been private secretary to Toussaint, wrote a
letter to Napoleon, in which he said: "Sire, leave it alone: it is
the happiest spot in your dominions; God raised this man to
govern; races melt under his hand. He saved you this island;
for I know of my own knowledge that when the Republic could
not have lifted a finger to prevent it, George III. offered him
any title and any revenue if he would hold the island under the
British crown. He refused, and saved it for France. " Napoleon
turned away from his Council, and is said to have remarked, "I
have sixty thousand idle troops: I must find them something to
do. »
He meant to say, "I am about to seize the crown; I dare
not do it in the faces of sixty thousand republican soldiers: I
must give them work at a distance to do. ” The gossip of Paris
gives another reason for his expedition against St. Domingo. It
is said that the satirists of Paris had christened Toussaint the
Black Napoleon; and Bonaparte hated his black shadow. Tous-
saint had unfortunately once addressed him a letter, "The first
of the blacks to the first of the whites. " He did not like the
comparison. You would think it too slight a motive. But let
me remind you of the present Napoleon, that when the epigram-
matists of Paris christened his wasteful and tasteless expense at
Versailles Soulouquerie, from the name of Soulouque, the Black
Emperor, he deigned to issue a specific order forbidding the use
of the word. The Napoleon blood is very sensitive. So Napo-
leon resolved to crush Toussaint, from one motive or another;
from the prompting of ambition, or dislike of this resemblance,-
which was very close. If either imitated the other, it must
have been the white, since the negro preceded him several years.
They were very much alike, and they were very French,-
French even in vanity, common to both. You remember Bona-
parte's vainglorious words to his soldiers at the Pyramids: "Forty
centuries look down upon us. " In the same mood, Toussaint
said to the French captain who urged him to go to France in
his frigate, "Sir, your ship is not large enough to carry me. "
Napoleon, you know, could never bear the military uniform.
He hated the restraint of his rank; he loved to put on the gray
>>


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11419
coat of the Little Corporal, and wander in the camp. Toussaint
also never could bear a uniform.
He wore a plain coat, and
often the yellow Madras handkerchief of the slaves. A French
lieutenant once called him a maggot in a yellow handkerchief.
Toussaint took him prisoner next day, and sent him home to his
mother. Like Napoleon, he could fast many days; could dictate
to three secretaries at once; could wear out four or five horses.
Like Napoleon, no man ever divined his purpose or penetrated
his plan.
He was only a negro; and so in him they called it
hypocrisy. In Bonaparte we style it diplomacy. For instance,
three attempts made to assassinate him all failed, from not firing
at the right spot. If they thought he was in the north in a car-
riage, he would be in the south on horseback; if they thought
he was in the city in a house, he would be in the field in a tent.
They once riddled his carriage with bullets; he was on horseback
on the other side. The seven Frenchmen who did it were ar-
rested. They expected to be shot. The next day was some saint's
day; he ordered them to be placed before the high altar, and
when the priest reached the prayer for forgiveness, came down
from his high seat, repeated it with him, and permitted them.
to go unpunished. He had that wit common to all great com-
manders, which makes its way in a camp. His soldiers getting
disheartened, he filled a large vase with powder, and scattering
six grains of rice in it, shook them up, and said: "See, there
is the white, there is the black; what are you afraid of? " So
when people came to him in great numbers for office, as it is
reported they do sometimes even in Washington, he learned the
first words of a Catholic prayer in Latin, and repeating it, would
say, "Do you understand that? "—"No, sir. "—"What! want an
office, and not know Latin? Go home and learn it! "
Then again, like Napoleon,-like genius always,- he had con-
fidence in his power to rule men. You remember when Bonaparte
returned from Elba, and Louis XVIII. sent an army against him,
Bonaparte descended from his carriage, opened his coat, offering
his breast to their muskets, and saying, "Frenchmen, it is the
Emperor! " and they ranged themselves behind him, his soldiers,
shouting "Vive l'Empereur! " That was in 1815. Twelve years
before, Toussaint, finding that four of his regiments had deserted
and gone to Leclerc, drew his sword, flung it on the grass, went
across the field to them, folded his arms, and said, "Children,


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can you point a bayonet at me? " The blacks fell on their
knees praying his pardon. His bitterest enemies watched him,
and none of them charged him with love of money, sensuality, or
cruel use of power. The only instance in which his sternest critic
has charged him with severity is this: During a tumult, a few
white proprietors who had returned, trusting his proclamation,
were killed. His nephew, General Moise, was accused of inde-
cision in quelling the riot. He assembled a court-martial, and on
its verdict ordered his own nephew to be shot, sternly Roman
in thus keeping his promise of protection to the whites. Above
the lust of gold, pure in private life, generous in the use of
his power, it was against such a man that Napoleon sent his
army, giving to General Leclerc, the husband of his beautiful
sister Pauline, thirty thousand of his best troops, with orders
to reintroduce slavery. Among these soldiers came all of Tous-
saint's old mulatto rivals and foes.
Holland lent sixty ships. England promised by special mes-
sage to be neutral; and you know neutrality means sneering at
freedom, and sending arms to tyrants. England promised neu-
trality, and the black looked out on the whole civilized world
marshaled against him. America, full of slaves, of course was
hostile. Only the Yankee sold him poor muskets at a very high
price. Mounting his horse, and riding to the eastern end of
the island, Samana, he looked out on a sight such as no native
had ever seen before. Sixty ships of the line, crowded by the
best soldiers of Europe, rounded the point. They were soldiers
who had never yet met an equal; whose tread, like Cæsar's,
had shaken Europe; - soldiers who had scaled the Pyramids, and
planted the French banners on the walls of Rome. He looked
a moment, counted the flotilla, let the reins fall on the neck of
his horse, and turning to Christophe, exclaimed: "All France is
come to Hayti: they can only come to make us slaves; and we
are lost! " He then recognized the only mistake of his life,-
his confidence in Bonaparte, which had led him to disband his
army.
—
Returning to the hills, he issued the only proclamation which
bears his name and breathes vengeance: "My children, France
comes to make us slaves. God gave us liberty; France has no
right to take it away. Burn the cities, destroy the harvests, tear
up the roads with cannon, poison the wells, show the white man


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11421
the hell he comes to make;"-and he was obeyed. When the
great William of Orange saw Louis XIV. cover Holland with
troops, he said, "Break down the dikes, give Holland back to
ocean; " and Europe said, "Sublime! » When Alexander saw
the armies of France descend upon Russia, he said, "Burn Mos-
cow, starve back the invaders;" and Europe said, "Sublime! "
This black saw all Europe marshaled to crush him, and gave to
his people the same heroic example of defiance.
It is true, the scene grows bloodier as we proceed. But
remember, the white man fitly accompanied his infamous at-
tempt to reduce free men to slavery with every bloody and cruel
device that bitter and shameless hate could invent. Aristocracy
is always cruel. The black man met the attempt, as every such
attempt should be met, with war to the hilt. In his first strug-
gle to gain his freedom, he had been generous and merciful,
saved lives and pardoned enemies, as the people in every age
and clime have always done when rising against aristocrats.
Now, to save his liberty, the negro exhausted every means,
seized every weapon, and turned back the hateful invaders with a
vengeance as terrible as their own, though even now he refused
to be cruel.
Leclerc sent word to Christophe that he was about to land at
Cape City. Christophe said, "Toussaint is governor of the island.
I will send to him for permission. If without it a French sol-
dier sets foot on shore, I will burn the town, and fight over its
ashes. "
Leclerc landed. Christophe took two thousand white men,
women, and children, and carried them to the mountains in
safety; then with his own hands set fire to the splendid palace
which French architects had just finished for him, and in forty
hours the place was in ashes. The battle was fought in its
streets, and the French driven back to their boats. Wherever
they went, they were met with fire and sword. Once, resisting
an attack, the blacks, Frenchmen born, shouted the Marseilles
Hymn, and the French soldiers stood still; they could not fight
the Marseillaise. ' And it was not till their officers sabred them
on that they advanced, and then they were beaten. Beaten in
the field, the French then took to lies. They issued proclama-
tions, saying, "We do not come to make you slaves; this man
Toussaint tells you lies. Join us, and you shall have the rights


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you claim. »
They cheated every one of his officers, except
Christophe and Dessalines and his own brother Pierre; and finally
these also deserted him, and he was left alone. He then sent
word to Leclerc, "I will submit. I could continue the struggle
for years, could prevent a single Frenchman from safely quit-
ting your camp. But I hate bloodshed. I have fought only for
the liberty of my race. Guarantee that, I will submit and come
in. " He took the oath to be a faithful citizen; and on the same
crucifix Leclerc swore that he should be faithfully protected, and
that the island should be e. As the French general glanced
along the line of his splendidly equipped troops, and saw oppo-
site Toussaint's ragged, ill-armed followers, he said to him, “L'Ou-
verture, had you continued the war, where could you have got
arms? " "I would have taken yours," was the Spartan reply.
He went down to his house in peace; it was summer. Leclerc
remembered that the fever months were coming, when his army
would be in hospitals, and when one motion of that royal hand
would sweep his troops into the sea. He was too dangerous
to be left at large. So they summoned him to attend a coun-
cil; and here is the only charge made against him,- the only
charge, they say he was fool enough to go. Grant it: what
was the record? The white man lies shrewdly to cheat the negro.
Knight-errantry was truth. The foulest insult you can offer a
man since the Crusades is, "You lie. " Of Toussaint, Hermona,
the Spanish general, who knew him well, said, "He was the
purest soul God ever put into a body. " Of him history bears
witness, "He never broke his word. " Maitland was traveling
in the depths of the woods to meet Toussaint, when he was met
by a messenger and told that he was betrayed.
He went on,
and met Toussaint, who showed him two letters, one from the
French general offering him any rank if he would put Maitland
in his power, and the other his reply. It was, "Sir, I have
promised the Englishman that he shall go back. " Let it stand,
therefore, that the negro, truthful as a knight of old, was cheated
by his lying foe. Which race has reason to be proud of such a
record?
-
But he was not cheated. He was under espionage. Suppose
he had refused: the government would have doubted him,-
would have found some cause to arrest him. He probably rea-
soned thus: "If I go willingly, I shall be treated accordingly;


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11423
and he went. The moment he entered the room, the officers
drew their swords and told him he was prisoner; and one young
lieutenant who was present says, "He was not at all surprised,
but seemed very sad. " They put him on shipboard and weighed
anchor for France. As the island faded from his sight, he turned
to the captain, and said, “You think you have rooted up the tree
of liberty, but I am only a branch; I have planted the tree so
deep that all France can never root it up. ”
Arrived in Paris, he was flung into jail, and Napoleon sent
his secretary Caffarelli to him, supposing he had buried large
treasures. He listened awhile, then replied, "Young man, it is
true I have lost treasures, but they are not such as you come
to seek. " He was then sent to the Castle of Joux, to a dun-
geon twelve feet by twenty, built wholly of stone, with a narrow
window high up on the one side, looking out on the snows of
Switzerland. In winter, ice covers the floor; in summer, it
is damp and wet. In this living tomb the child of the sunny
tropic was left to die. From this dungeon he wrote two letters
to Napoleon. One of them ran thus:-
"Sire, I am a French citizen. I never broke a law. By the
grace of God, I have saved for you the best island of your realm.
Sire, of your mercy grant me justice. "
Napoleon never answered the letters. The commandant al-
lowed five francs a day for food and fuel. Napoleon heard of
it, and reduced the sum to three. The luxurious usurper, who
complained that the English government was stingy because it
allowed him only six thousand dollars a month, stooped from
throne to cut down a dollar to a half, and still Toussaint did not
die quick enough.
This dungeon was a tomb. The story is told that in Jose-
phine's time, a young French marquis was placed there, and the
girl to whom he was betrothed went to the Empress and prayed
for his release. Said Josephine to her, "Have a model of it
made, and bring it to me. " Josephine placed it near Napoleon.
He said, "Take it away,-it is horrible! ? She put it on his
footstool, and he kicked it from him. She held it to him the
third time, and said, "Sire, in this horrible dungeon you have
put a man to die. " "Take him out," said Napoleon, and the girl
saved her lover. In this tomb Toussaint was buried, but he
did not die fast enough. Finally the commandant was told to go
into Switzerland, to carry the keys of the dungeon with him, and


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to stay four days; when he returned, Toussaint was found starved
to death. That imperial assassin was taken, twelve years after,
to his prison at St. Helena, planned for a tomb as he had
planned that of Toussaint; and there he whined away his dying
hours in pitiful complaints of curtains and titles, of dishes and
rides. God grant that when some future Plutarch shall weigh
the great men of our epoch, the whites against the blacks, he do
not put that whining child at St. Helena into one scale, and into
the other the negro, meeting death like a Roman, without a mur-
mur, in the solitude of his icy dungeon!
ANTIQUITY OF INVENTIONS AND STORIES
From Lecture on The Lost Arts'
I
HAVE been somewhat criticized, year after year, for this en-
deavor to open up the claims of old times. I have been
charged with repeating useless fables with no foundation.
To-day I take the mere subject of glass. This material, Pliny
says, was discovered by accident. Some sailors, landing on the
eastern coast of Spain, took their cooking utensils, and supported
them on the sand by the stones that they found in the neigh-
borhood; they kindled their fire, cooked the fish, finished the
meal, and removed the apparatus; and glass was found to have
resulted from the nitre and sea-sand, vitrified by the heat. Well,
I have been a dozen times criticized by a number of wise men,
in newspapers, who have said that this was a very idle tale;
«<
that there never was sufficient heat in a few bundles of sticks to
produce vitrification,— glass-making. I happened, two years ago,
to meet on the prairies of Missouri, Professor Shepherd, who
started from Yale College, and like a genuine Yankee brings up
anywhere where there is anything to do. I happened to men-
tion this criticism to him. "Well," says he, "a little practical
life would have freed men from that doubt. " Said he, We
stopped last year in Mexico, to cook some venison.
We got
down from our saddles, and put the cooking apparatus on stones
we found there; made our fire with the wood we got there, re-
sembling ebony; and when we removed the apparatus there was
pure silver gotten out of the embers by the intense heat of that
almost iron wood. Now," said he, "that heat was greater than
any necessary to vitrify the materials of glass. »


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11425
Take the whole range of imaginative literature, and we are all
wholesale borrowers. In every matter that relates to invention,
to use, or beauty, or form, we are borrowers.
You may glance around the furniture of the palaces in
Europe, and you may gather all these utensils of art or use; and
when you have fixed the shape and forms in your mind, I will
take you into the museum of Naples, which gathers all the re-
mains of the domestic life of the Romans, and you shall not find
a single one of these modern forms of art or beauty or use that
was not anticipated there. We have hardly added one single line.
or sweep of beauty to the antique. .
All the boys' plays, like everything that amuses the child in
the open air, are Asiatic.
Rawlinson will show you that they
came somewhere from the banks of the Ganges or the suburbs
of Damascus. Bulwer borrowed the incidents of his Roman
stories from legends of a thousand years before. Indeed, Dun-
lop, who has grouped the history of the novels of all Europe
into one essay, says that in the nations of modern Europe there
have been two hundred and fifty or three hundred distinct
stories. He says at least two hundred of these may be traced,
before Christianity, to the other side of the Black Sea. If this
were my topic, which it is not, I might tell you that even our
newspaper jokes are enjoying a very respectable old age. Take
Maria Edgeworth's essay on Irish bulls and the laughable mis-
takes of the Irish. Even the tale which either Maria Edgeworth
or her father thought the best is that famous story of a man
writing a letter as follows: "My dear friend, I would write you.
in detail more minutely, if there was not an impudent fellow
looking over my shoulder, reading every word. "-"No, you lie :
I've not read a word you have written! " This is an Irish bull;
still it is a very old one. It is only two hundred and fifty years
older than the New Testament. Horace Walpole dissented from
Richard Lovell Edgeworth, and thought the other Irish bull was
the best,- of the man who said, "I would have been a very
handsome man, but they changed me in the cradle. " That comes
from Don Quixote, and is Spanish; but Cervantes borrowed it.
from the Greek in the fourth century, and the Greek stole it
from the Egyptian hundreds of years back.
There is one story which it is said Washington has related,
of a man who went into an inn and asked for a glass of drink
from the landlord, who pushed forward a wine-glass about half the
XX-715


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WENDELL PHILLIPS
usual size; the teacups also in that day were not more than half
the present size. The landlord said, "That glass out of which
you are drinking is forty years old " "Well," said the thirsty
traveler, contemplating its diminutive proportions, "I think it is
the smallest thing of its age I ever saw. " That story as told is
given as a story of Athens three hundred and seventy-five years
before Christ was born. Why! all these Irish bulls are Greek,-
every one of them. Take the Irishman who carried around a
brick as a specimen of the house he had to sell; take the Irish-
man who shut his eyes and looked into the glass to see how he
would look when he was dead; take the Irishman that bought
a crow, alleging that crows were reported to live two hundred
years, and he meant to set out and try it; take the Irishman who
met a friend who said to him, "Why, sir, I heard you were dead. "
"Well," says the man, "I suppose you see I'm not. " "Oh, no,”
says he, "I would believe the man who told me a good deal
quicker than I would you. " Well, those are all Greek.
A score
or more of them, of a parallel character, come from Athens. .
Cicero said that he had seen the entire Iliad, which is a poem
as large as the New Testament, written on a skin so that it
could be rolled up in the compass of a nut-shell. Now this is
imperceptible to the ordinary eye. You have seen the Decla-
ration of Independence in the compass of a quarter of a dollar,
written with glasses. I have to-day a paper at home, as long as
half my hand, on which was photographed the whole contents of
a London newspaper. It was put under a dove's wing and sent
into Paris, where they enlarged it and read the news. This copy
of the Iliad must have been made by some such process.
――――
In the Roman theatre, the Coliseum, which could seat a
hundred thousand people,—the emperor's box, raised to the high-
est tier, bore about the same proportion to the space as this
stand does to this hall; and to look down to the centre of a six-
acre lot was to look a considerable distance. ("Considerable,"
by the way, is not a Yankee word. Lord Chesterfield uses it in
his letters to his son, so it has a good English origin. ) Pliny
says that Nero the tyrant had a ring with a gem in it, which he
looked through and watched the sword-play of the gladiators,—
men who killed each other to amuse the people,- more clearly
than with the naked eye. So Nero had an opera-glass.
So Mauritius the Sicilian stood on the promontory of his
island, and could sweep over the entire sea to the coast of Africa
-


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11427
with his nauscopite, which is a word derived from two Greek
words, meaning "to see a ship. " Evidently Mauritius, who was
a pirate, had a marine telescope.
You may visit Dr. Abbot's museum, where you will see the
ring of Cheops. Bunsen puts him five hundred years before
Christ. The signet of the ring is about the size of a quarter of
a dollar, and the engraving is invisible without the aid of glasses.
No man was ever shown into the cabinets of gems in Italy with-
out being furnished with a microscope to look at them. It would
be idle for him to look at them without one. He couldn't appre-
ciate the delicate lines and the expression of the faces.
If you
go to Parma, they will show you a gem once worn on the finger
of Michael Angelo, of which the engraving is two thousand years
old, on which there are the figures of seven women. You must
have the aid of a glass in order to distinguish the forms at all.
I have a friend who has a ring, perhaps three-quarters of an inch
in diameter, and on it is the naked figure of the god Hercules.
By the aid of glasses you can distinguish the interlacing muscles,
and count every separate hair on the eyebrows. Layard says he
would be unable to read the engravings on Nineveh without
strong spectacles, they are so extremely small. Rawlinson brought
home a stone about twenty inches long and ten wide, containing
an entire treatise on mathematics. It would be perfectly illegible
without glasses. Now if we are unable to read it without the
aid of glasses, you may suppose the man who engraved it had
pretty strong spectacles. So the microscope, instead of dating
from our time, finds its brothers in the books of Moses, and
these are infant brothers.


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11428
PIERRE OF PROVENCE AND THE BEAUTIFUL
MAGUELONNE
BY OLGA FLINCH
T
HE story of Pierre of Provence and the beautiful Maguelonne
comes to us in a quaint little edition printed in Avignon in
the year 1770; but goes back much farther than this date,
and is one of the floating stories of the Middle Ages, which, passing
from mouth to mouth and province to province, finally found their
way into print in sometimes two or three different languages. There
is said to be a German edition of Pierre of Provence, and there are
also whispers of an Italian one. The present French edition comes
without name of author or editor: and whoever the one that kindly
saved it for us, he has the good grace of allowing the little story to
speak for itself; naïvely relating it with a simplicity that suggests the
fairy tale told of a winter evening to a group of children eagerly
crowding around the log fire.
The scene is laid in Provence, which "seems always to have been
the home of Poetry: be it because the sunlight, stronger and purer
there than elsewhere, creates a more vivid and life-giving imagina-
tion; or because in this fresh country, hardly ever darkened by the
colds of winter, it requires no effort to call forth the most smiling
picture. »
This little earthly paradise had been for some time the seat of
intestine wars, when Count Jean de Provence, in spite of his title to
the throne, preferred "quiet obscurity to a glory built upon murder;
kept his title of count, and settled at Cavaillon, where he enjoyed the
fruits of his virtue in peace, and where the happiness of loving and
being loved by a most beautiful and most virtuous wife meant more
to him than the empire of the world. " Together this happy couple
spent their time and efforts on the education of their son Pierre,
who from early childhood was trained in all the arts, sciences, and
accomplishments of the period, so that when "age and experience
had ripened his principles, Pierre was one of the most redoubtable
of knights;
no one could conquer him, neither in hand-to-
hand fight, nor in races, nor with sword or lance. The most cele-
brated troubadours, the most practiced jongleurs, had to acknowledge
him their master. In his twentieth year Pierre was the delight of
his parents, and in the whole of Provence the talk was but of him. "


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PIERRE OF PROVENCE
11429
But so much valor would naturally only await an opportunity to
distinguish itself further; and after a tournament in which Pierre
covered himself with fresh glory, a new direction was given to
his ambition. At the repast after the tournament the talk fell on
Maguelonne, daughter of the King of Naples, "for whose sake all
the knights seeking her father's court attempted the most astonishing
feats. Much was said of her charms and her beauty.
She was
described minutely, and Pierre had the description repeated twenty
times. One of the knights asked him if he did not intend to see the
world and seek adventures. Pierre did not answer, but remained lost
in thought and absent-minded. " At this me our hero was at the
happy age when "the need of loving gives new life to the soul; and
makes of a well-disposed character an excellent one, and of an evil-
disposed character a vicious one. " The beauty of Maguelonne made
a deep impression on him; and all his thoughts were now of her, of
the court of Naples, and of the glories to be won there. His only
sorrow was the thought of the sorrow he would cause his devoted
parents by leaving them: but kneeling before his father and open-
ing his heart to him, he "reminded him modestly of the advantages
he had taken of the education granted him, of the reputation he
had won; 'but to what use,' added he, 'are the principles you have
inculcated, the little talent I have won, if I am to spend my life in
inactivity? It is not for his own sake, it is in order to be an exam-
ple to the world, the defender of the oppressed, the protector of the
unhappy, that a knight must live his life. '» And asking his par-
ents to weigh carefully the life awaiting him in his home against the
life of the world outside, he leaves the decision with them. They
see the justice of his wishes, and all preparations are made for his
departure; his father recalling to him the teachings of his childhood,
and his mother giving him as a parting gift three costly rings.
Pierre finally arrives in Naples, where reigns the father of the
beautiful Maguelonne; but although he has a brilliant suite, he pre-
fers to remain unknown,- that he may win the love of Maguelonne
on his own merits, and also that he may not attract the attention of
his father's brother, Count Jacques of Provence, who might fear that
with the help of the King of Naples. Pierre would attempt to regain
for his father the throne which Count Jacques had usurped. Pierre
chose as his emblem two keys, and had them embroidered on his
clothes and on the harness of his horses; and dressed in his richest
apparel, he went the following Sunday to the tournament called in
honor of Maguelonne, who was to grace it with her presence. Pierre
finds the princess far exceeding all that had been said of her: in-
spired by her beauty, he enters the lists and conquers all his com-
batants, as much by his skill and agility as by his strength; and to


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PIERRE OF PROVENCE
the King's messenger, who asks the name of so valiant a stranger,
he answers that he is merely a poor French knight in search of
glory, who has vowed not to disclose his name.
Maguelonne is so charmed with his prowess, that the King, at her
wish, orders several other tournaments, out of which Pierre comes
equally victorious, each time gaining in her esteem. "She had seen
many knights, but none had made the same impression on her. . . .
Maguelonne was both gentle and vivacious; she had all the virtues of
a tender heart, and all the qualities of an active and gifted mind: but
at this time her strongest feeling was the fear that her father might
lack in courtesy to the unknown knight. " Her joy was therefore
great when the King invited Pierre to dine at the palace, and gave
him the seat of honor at her side. "Pierre, without forgetting that
he was seated next to the King, saw nothing but the beauty of the
daughter. He suppressed his sighs, and his heart was the prey of
the most passionate love. Maguelonne experienced the same feeling,
but would not believe it: she took her emotion for natural admira-
tion, and her tenderness for the esteem due so many virtues. ”
In this way their mutual love grows, causing them to pass through
all the various phases of emotion, from joy to sadness, from hope to
fear, scarcely understanding what can be this new imperious feeling.
After Maguelonne has passed several sleepless nights, she goes to her
old nurse Nicé one morning at dawn, and confesses her love for the
unknown knight; and being reproved for loving an adventurer, she
says: “Nicé, you speak to me of thrones, grandeur, riches,— what is
all that compared to love? You would make me despise my rank,
were it to prevent me from loving the virtues of an honest man
because he is neither rich nor powerful. Power should be the reward
of valor and not of birth; but, cruel Nicé, who has told you that this
stranger is of low birth? It is only because you fear him that you
oppose my wishes. Go then to him, use all your tact to discover
which is his country and who are his parents: not that I doubt him,
but I would be justified in your sight. I would that you might help
me with your counsel without blushing. " Maguelonne conquers all
Nicé's scruples; and having assured her that whatever happens, she
will marry none other than the knight of the keys, she adds: “It is
late: go, my dear friend, hasten, and if necessary make your way to
the unknown; question him, ask him most urgently, and if you must
tell him all I feel for him, it will not cause me a blush; -love ceases
to be a weakness when it is wedded to virtue. Farewell; you know
my heart,-my life is in your hands. "
Pierre, who does not dare to hope that the princess will ever
accept his love, is thinking over the difficulties of his position when
Nicé comes to him. Assuring him of the friendship of the King


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PIERRE OF PROVENCE
11431
and Queen, and telling him that he has inspired the princess with
"the feelings which he deserves," she begs him to disclose his name
and rank, that envious courtiers may not make his silence a pretext
to hurt him. Pierre declares that no fear of intrigues would make
him disclose his identity; but that the sole wish to please the princess
forces him to acknowledge that he belongs to an illustrious family of
France. Thereupon he presents Nicé with one of the rings given him
by his mother, not daring to give it to the princess herself; and Nicé,
to reward him for his confidence, pledges herself to make Maguelonne
accept it.
She returns to find the princess more impatient than ever,
in her delight over his ring able to talk of nothing but her love,
spending her days and nights thinking of him and dreaming of him.
Pierre meanwhile, fearing the result of his message, seeks Nicé,
who promises to help him if she is sure of the purity of his love for
Maguelonne. "May I die before your eyes," he exclaims, "if carried
away by base passion I should ever cast a bold look on the one I
love so tenderly. I adore Maguelonne; I would give my life for her;
and if I could win her hand thereby, there is no danger that I would
not brave. " Conquered by these protestations, Nicé confesses the love
of the princess; Pierre promises to tell Maguelonne who he is, and
sends her another ring. Their first meeting is set for the next day.
Nicé meets Pierre and brings him to the princess, leaving them to-
gether overwhelmed by a happiness that finds no words to express
itself. Maguelonne finally, reminding him of her great trust in him,
begs him to have equal confidence in her; and kneeling before her,
he confesses his vow not to disclose his name and title until he had
succeeded in winning her love. Then, with Maguelonne's permission,
and being assured of her love, he tells her all, and dwells upon the
danger it would mean to his father, to herself, and him, if his uncle
the reigning Count of Provence should hear of his intention to marry
the heiress of a kingdom; by such an alliance making himself a much
more redoubtable claimant to the throne of Provence.
Maguelonne trembles at the thought of the danger her lover is
exposed to; but, assured that her father would approve of their union
if he knew who Pierre was, "she feels that she does not lack in her
duty toward her father in giving her heart and promise to so brave
a knight, who is moreover of the blood of kings. " Consequently they
exchange the most solemn vows; Pierre gives Maguelonne the third
of his mother's rings, and she takes from her neck a golden chain
which she passes around his.
But the secrecy to which they are forced naturally weighs heavy
on them; and when Maguelonne is alone with Nicé she cannot help
contrasting her fate with that of her poorest subject, who can freely
marry the man of her choice. "If Pierre were a reigning monarch,


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11432
PIERRE OF PROVENCE
might he even be the most detested but powerful tyrant, he had only
to will it and he could be my husband. And if he were the son of
a shepherd, although he had the courage of the greatest heroes and
the wisdom of the best of kings, he would be punished for daring to
aspire to the hand of a princess. Yes, Nicé, this is the fate of my
lover. As prince he is lost if he becomes known, as simple citizen
his love would be a crime if it were discovered. ' What reasons for
discontent? ' said the nurse: 'you must expect everything from time
and your own prudence. »»
Pierre meanwhile gains the heart of everybody at court by his re-
peated triumphs, beauty, and modesty; and this awakens the jealousy
of Ferrier, Duke of Normandie, who aspires to Maguelonne's hand.
Confident of his strength, Ferrier begs the King to call another tour-
nament, at which he unseats all his adversaries until in turn he is
thrown off his horse by Pierre. As victor, Pierre is to continue
the fight with the next adversary; and great is his surprise when he
recognizes his uncle, Count Jacques of Provence. Pierre, without
making himself known, tries to dissuade the count from fighting; but
his uncle insists upon his rights. Pierre contents himself with merely
evading the count's thrusts, until Count Jacques, rendered furious,
takes his sword in both hands; Pierre, without attempting to evade
him again, only turns his head a little, and the stroke merely grazes
Pierre's armor; the count by the violence of his own motion is
thrown over the head of his horse and falls at the feet of Pierre's.
He rises with a low murmur. Everybody is surprised at the skill
and strength of the knight of the keys: nobody understands why,
being so superior to the count, he should have first refused to fight
him; only Maguelonne understands all. As for the count, he dared
not begin again, and was obliged to acknowledge that the unknown
knight was the most redoubtable and at the same time the most
courteous of all those he had fought until that day. " Humiliated by
his defeat, the count leaves at once, thus losing the chance of recog-
nizing Pierre.
Before the tournament, Maguelonne had seized the opportunity of
a conversation with Count Jacques to inquire after Pierre's parents;
and when Pierre comes to her the next day, he hears from her that
his mother is suffering great anxiety at not having heard from him,
and he immediately asks Maguelonne's permission to go home and
reassure his parents. But the prospect of his absence, and the fear
of being forced to marry Ferrier, who will make the most of his
opportunity, is more than Maguelonne can bear; and she implores
Pierre not to leave, or at least not to leave without her. "What! '
exclaimed Pierre, you would have so great a confidence in me that
you would go with me? O most adorable princess, the sacrifice which


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PIERRE OF PROVENCE
11433
you propose deserves that I should forget the entire world to belong
only to you. Well then, I will not go. But my mother! my mother
to whom I am giving this great sorrow may die, and I shall be the
cause of her death! ' Maguelonne's heart softened, and she begged
Pierre to leave and take her with him. "
Thus the lovers make up their mind to flee, and to be married
as soon as they are out of reach, that Maguelonne may accompany
her husband. The next night they leave, Pierre taking three horses
carrying provisions, and Maguelonne taking with her all her jewels.
and valuables. "Maguelonne rode beside her lover; one of Pierre's
servants rode ahead, and the two others behind. With the dawn of
day they reached a thick wood bordering on the sea.
They
dismounted and sat down on the grass. Maguelonne, who had been
strengthened on the way by love and fear, felt tired out; she laid
her head on Pierre's knees; with one of his hands he held her beau-
tiful face, and with the other he held a veil to protect her from the
dew falling from the leaves. To cleave helmets, break lances, and
throw knights, demand great courage: but to be young, in love, hold
in your arms in the solitude of the woods the woman who loves you,
and still to treat her as a sister, is an effort of which not many
knights would be capable; but Pierre was, and Maguelonne fell calmly
asleep. "
At the court of Naples all is consternation and despair. Nicé
had known nothing of the lovers' flight; and after a fruitless search,
the recent sight of Moorish ships on the coast gives rise to the suspi-
cion that the unknown knight was a Moorish prince. The King sends
out troops, who do not find the Moors, but do all the harm of which
growing anxiety has accused the Moors.
Meanwhile our lovers were in the forest. "Maguelonne was asleep
in Pierre's lap; her morning dreams with their happy fancies made
her more beautiful than ever. Her face, half reclining on her lover's
arm, was flushed with color; a light wind which raised her veil and
fanned her cheek showed Pierre a throat whose whiteness made the
color of her face all the more beautiful. Pierre looked at her, his
heart full of love: from time to time he touched one of Maguelonne's
hands with his lips, and tempted by her half-opened lips, he bent
down a thousand times to pluck the kisses she seemed to offer
him; and a thousand times fear and respect for his promises to her
held him back. Ah, Pierre! Pierre! how dearly you will pay for
your fatal prudence! He noticed at Maguelonne's side a little box of
precious wood; he wanted to know what it contained. Ah, Pierre, is
that the kind of curiosity you ought to have? He opens it, and finds
therein the three rings left him by his mother which he had given
her; Maguelonne kept them like a precious token of Pierre's love.


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11434
PIERRE OF PROVENCE
He closes the box, puts it beside him, and is lost in thought. But
while he gives himself up to his reveries, a bird of prey seizes upon
the box and flies away with it; Pierre follows it with his eyes; he
foresees Maguelonne's disappointment at this loss: he takes off his
coat, as quietly as possible spreads it over his beloved, takes a sling,
tries to hit the bird with a stone; his efforts are useless: the bird
perches on a rock in the water; Pierre hits it without wounding it;
the bird flies away, letting the box fall into the water. "
Pierre takes a boat and goes out for the ring, is drifted out to sea
by a sudden strong current, appeals for help to a ship coming his
way, is taken on board by the sailors, who are Moorish pirates, and
is carried away to spend five years in captivity on the coast of
Africa. He renders the Sultan great services, succeeds in putting
down a State conspiracy, and finally obtains as a reward his freedom
and innumerable riches, which are packed in barrels and covered
with salt to avoid suspicion and robbery. He embarks for Provence,
but on the way the ship puts in at a small island port, and he is left
behind by mistake. On reaching shore, the sailors send his barrels
to a convent hospital, the superior of which has a great reputation
for kindness to strangers. Pierre after many trials reaches French
soil, ill and suffering; and upon the advice of some sailors he seeks
help at the convent hospital, where he is tenderly cared for. Among
the patients are two knights that he knew at the court of Naples.
From them he hears that Maguelonne is supposed to be dead; that
the King of Naples has died of grief, the Queen reigning in his place;
that the Count and Countess of Provence are still mourning the loss
of their son. At the news of Maguelonne's death he is thrown into
a violent fever; the mother superior, Emilie, is sent for, and seeing
that his illness has a mental cause, she begs him to confide in her. He
tells her his story; and when he names Maguelonne and acknowl-
edges that he is Pierre of Provence, she exclaims, "O eternal justice,
O Providence! What! you are the valiant Pierre, Maguelonhe's lover?
O Heaven! have mercy on me, support me and strengthen me. '
. She was trembling and could hardly breathe, but she con-
trolled herself: she feared that the news she had to tell the unfor-
tunate Pierre might cause him so violent an emotion that he would
not be able to bear it. "
She tells him that she is a friend of Maguelonne's, and has reason
to think that Maguelonne is still alive. The next day she comes
again and brings him the news that Maguelonne is in a convent, but
not bound by any vow, and that she still lives but for him; and
adding that she must take a journey of a few days, she hands him a
letter from Maguelonne. The letter, written to Emilie, is full of
love, hope, and impatience; "of sentences not finished, of lines half


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PIERRE OF PROVENCE
11435
effaced by tears, expressions that had no sense, tender ravings, a
thousand ideas that clashed with each other; the purest religious
sentiments and the most devoted love, the severest moral rectitude
and the most passionate forgetfulness, all are united therein, and any
one but a lover would have thought Maguelonne bereft of reason.
She promised her friend to come and see her, and then to unite her
fate with Pierre's forever; but she did not set the time. "
Pierre awaits Emilie's return most impatiently; and is finally told
that she has come back, and asks him to sup with her that evening.
Tortured by a thousand fears, Pierre imagines that she chooses this
means of preparing him for the sad news that Maguelonne is bound
by a convent vow, and goes to her in the evening with many mis-
givings. But she calms his fears, and tells him that she has brought
Nicé, who is awaiting them in the adjoining room. "In a separate
apartment Emilie had prepared a room with as much taste as mag-
nificence; a table, carefully set, awaited five guests; Pierre and Emilie
arrive, the door is opened, and Pierre finds himself in the arms of
his father and mother. 'Great God,' cries Pierre, embracing them,
'cruel Emilie, you did not prepare me for this extreme happiness. O
my father! O my mother! my joy is killing me. ' They were all weep-
ing tears of delight; the knight was in the arms now of the count,
now of the countess; broken words, sighs, caresses, express the feel-
ing that possessed him; it would have been hard for him to stand
this touching scene if the presence of Nicé, who came to his aid, had
not reminded him of Maguelonne's absence. He embraced Nicé, he
assured her of his deep gratitude for the interest she had formerly
taken in his love. Ah, Nicé! will you forgive me all the sorrow
that our flight must have caused you?