No More Learning

“Yes, that was a nice day,” he said; and I sat on his other
knee.
How small we must have been then. "
"And we were so pitifully stupid,” she answered: when I
«
think now how you wanted to whistle, and could not! ”
“Do you remember that? ” he asked; and his eyes sparkled in
the consciousness of his present attainments in the art.
“Of course," she replied; and when you went away you
came running back and - do you still remember? »
He remembered very well.
"Now you can whistle, of course,” she laughed: (at our age
that is no longer an accomplishment, - even I can do it;” and
she pointed her lips in a very funny manner.
He was sad that she spoke so slightingly of his art, and re-
flected whether it would not be better to give up whistling alto-
gether.
“Why are you so silent ? ” she asked. "Are you tired too ? ”
“Oh no; but you - eh ? ”
Yes: the walk through the sand and the noontide heat had
tired her.
« Then come into our house and rest,” he cried with sparkling
eves; for he thought what joy his mother would feel at seeing
her.
But she refused. “Your father is not kindly disposed towards
us, mamma said; and that's why you may not come for a visit
to Helenenthal. Your father would perhaps send me away. ”
He replied with a deep blush, My father would not do that; ”
and felt much ashamed.
She cast a glance towards the Haidehof, which lay scarcely a
hundred yards from the road. The red fence shone in the sun-
shine, and even the gray half-ruined barns looked more cheerful
than usual.
“Your house looks very nice,” she said, shading her eyes with
her hand.
(
(
(C
(C


## p. 14171 (#361) ##########################################

HERMANN SUDERMANN
14171
(
»
“Oh yes,” he answered, his heart swelling with pride; "and
there is an owl nailed to the door of one of the sheds. But it
shall become much nicer still,” he added after a little while,
seriously, only let me begin to rule. ” And then he set to work
“
to explain to her all his plans for the future. She listened
attentively, but when he had finished she said again:
“I am tired -I must rest;” and she wanted to sit down on
the edge of the ditch,
« Not here in the blazing sun,” he cautioned her: we'll look
(
out for the first juniper-bush we can find. ”
She gave him her hand, and let him drag her wearily over
the heath, which undulated with mole-hills like the waves on a
lake; and near the edge of the wood there were some solitary
juniper-bushes, which stood out like a group of black dwarfs
above the level plain.
Under the first of these bushes she cowered down, so that its
shadow almost entirely shrouded her slight, delicate figure.
“Here is just room enough for your head,” she said, pointing
to a mole-hill which was just within range of the shade.
He stretched himself out on the grass, his head resting on the
mole-hill, his forehead covered by the hem of her dress.
She leaned back on the bush in order to find support in its
branches.
“The needles don't prick at all,” she said: they mean well
by us. I believe we could pass through the Sleeping Beauty's
hedge of thorns. ”
“You — not 1,” he answered, lifting his eyes to her from his
recumbent position: “every thorn has pricked me. I am no fairy
prince; not even a simple Hans in luck, am I ? ”
«That will all come in time,” she replied consolingly: "you
must not always have sad thoughts. ”
He wanted to reply, but he lacked the right words; and as he
looked up meditatively, a swallow fitted through the blue sky.
Then involuntarily he uttered a whistle, as if he wanted to call
it; and as it did not come, he whistled again, and for a second
and third time.
Elsbeth laughed, but he went on whistling -- first without
knowing how, and without reflecting why; but when one tone
after the other flowed from his lips, he felt as if he had become
very eloquent all of a sudden, and as if in this manner he could
say all that weighed on his heart, and for which in words he
never could have found courage. All that which made him sad,
(c


## p. 14172 (#362) ##########################################

14172
HERMANN SUDERMANN
((
(
C
>>
all that which he cared about, came pouring forth. He shut his
eyes and listened, so to speak, to what the tones were saying for
him. He thought that the good God in heaven spoke for him,
and was relating all that concerned him, even that which he had
never been clear about himself.
When he looked up, he did not know how long he had been
lying there whistling; but he saw that Elsbeth was crying.
Why do you cry? ” he asked.
She did not answer him; but dried her eyes with her hand-
kerchief, and rose.
Silently they walked side by side for a while. When they
reached the wood, which lay thick and dark before them, she
stopped and asked :-
“Who has taught you that? ”
“Nobody,” he said: “it came to me quite naturally.
Can
you
also play the flute ? she went on.
No, he could not: he had never even heard it; he only knew
that it was the favorite pastime of Old Fritz. ”
“You must learn it,” she said.
He thought it would probably be too difficult for him.
“You shall try all the same,
» she counseled him; "you must
be an artist -- a great artist. ”
He was startled when she said that; he scarcely dared to fol-
low out her thoughts.
When they reached the other side of the wood they separated.
She went towards the White House, and he went back. When
he passed the juniper-bush where they had both been sitting, all
seemed to him like a dream; and henceforth it always remained
so to him. Two or three days elapsed before he dared to say
.
anything of his adventure to his mother, but then he could con-
tain himself no longer: he confessed everything to her.
His mother looked at him for a long time, and then went out;
but from that time she used to listen secretly, to catch if pos-
sible some notes of his whistling.
The two children often walked home together; but such an
hour as the one beneath the juniper-bush never came to them
again.
[Upon Paul, Dame Care lays more and heavier burdens with each advan-
cing year. Out of unquestioning devotion to his responsibilities, he renounces
all claims to personal happiness; and he and Eisbeth drift apart. Only when
he is brought to trial for a noble but punishable act, does she reappear as his
good angel. ]


## p. 14173 (#363) ##########################################

HERMANN SUDERMANN
14173
THE TRIAL
TH
,
>>
From Dame Care. ) Copyright 1891, by Harper & Brothers
VE lawyer for the defense had ended. A murmur went
through the wide court of the assizes, the galleries of
which were crammed with spectators.
If the accused did not spoil the effect of the brilliant speech
by an imprudent word, he was saved.
The president's answer resounded unheard.
And now the eye-glasses and opera-glasses began to click. All
eyes were directed to the pale, simply clad man who was sitting
in the same dock where, eight years ago, the vicious servant had
sat.
The president asked whether the accused had anything more
to add, to strengthen the proof of his innocence.
“Silence! silence! ” was murmured through the court.
But Paul rose and spoke, - first low and hesitatingly, then
every moment with greater firmness.
"I am heartily sorry that the trouble my defender has taken
to save me should have been useless; but I am not as innocent
of the deed as he represents. ”
The judges looked at each other. « What is he about? He is
going to speak against himself! »
He said: "Anxiety made me nearly unconscious. I then acted
in a kind of madness which at that moment rendered me incapa-
ble of calculation. ”
“He is cutting his own throat! ” said the audience.
"I have all my life been shy and oppressed, and have felt as
if I could look nobody in the face, though I had nothing to con-
ceal; but if this time I behave in a cowardly manner, I believe
I should be less able to do so than ever,- and this time I should
have good reason enough for it. My defender has also repre-
sented
my
former life as a pattern of all virtues. But this
was not so, either. I lacked dignity and self-possession; I passed
over too much as regards both other people and myself: and that
has always rankled in my mind, though I was never clear about
it. Too much has weighed upon me to enable me ever to
breathe freely as a man should, if he does not want to grow dull
and care-laden. This deed has made me free, and has given me
-
that which I lacked so long; it has been a great happiness to


## p. 14174 (#364) ##########################################

14174
HERMANN SUDERMANN
me: and should I be so ungrateful as to deny it to-day? No; I
will not do that. Let them imprison me as long as they like.
I shall abide my time and begin a new life.
"And so I must say I have set fire to my belongings in
full consciousness; I was never more in my senses than at the
moment when I poured the petroleum over my sheaves; and if
to-day I were to be in the same position, God knows I should do
the same again. Why should I not? What I destroyed was the
work of my own hands; I had created it after long years of
hard toil, and could do with it what I liked. I well know that
the law is of a different opinion, and therefore I shall quietly
go to prison for my time. But who else suffered by the injury
except myself ? My sisters were well provided for, and my
father” — he stopped a moment, and his voice shook as he con-
tinued — "yes, would it not have been better if my old father
had passed the last years of his life in peace and tranquillity
with one of his daughters than where I am now going ?
“Fate would not have it so. A stroke killed him; and my
brothers say that I was his murderer. But my brothers have no
right at all to judge about that: they know neither me nor my
father. All their lives they have been concerned with themselves
only, and have let me alone care for my father, mother, and sis-
ters, house and farm; and I was only good enough when they
wanted something. They turn away from me to-day; but they can
-
never be more estranged from me in the future than they have
always been in the past.
"My sisters ” — he turned towards the witness-box, where
Greta and Kate sat crying with covered faces, and his voice
grew softer as if from suppressed tears — “my sisters won't have
anything to do with me any more, but I gladly forgive them:
they are women, and made of more delicate metal; also, there
are two men standing behind them who find it very easy to be
indignant at my monstrous deed. They have all abandoned me
now; no, not all, a bright look crossed his face,– “but that
need not be mentioned here. But one thing I will say, even
though I be considered a murderer: I do not repent that my
father died through my deed; I loved him more when I killed
him than if I had let him live. He was old and weak, and what
awaited him was shame and dishonor; he lived such a quiet life,
and would have miserably dwindled away here: surely it was
better death should come to him like lightning, that kills people
»
-


## p. 14175 (#365) ##########################################

HERMANN SUDERMANN
14175
>
in the middle of their happiness. That is my opinion. I have
settled it with my conscience, and have no need to render
account to any one but to God and to myself. Now you may
condemn me. ”
“ Bravo! » cried a thundering voice in the court from the
witness-box.
It was Douglas.
His gigantic figure stood erect, his eyes sparkled beneath his
bushy brows; and when the president called him to order, he sat
down defiantly and said to his neighbor, “I can be proud of
him -eh? ”
FREED FROM DAME CARE
Tug
From (Dame Care. ) Copyright 1891, by Harper & Brothers
wo years later, on a bright morning in June, the red-painted
gate of the prison opened and let out a prisoner, who with
a laugh on his face was blinking his eyes in the bright
sun, as if trying to learn to bear the light again. He swung the
bundle which he carried to and fro, and looked carelessly to
the right and the left, like one who was not decided which direc-
tion to follow, but for whom, on the whole, it was unimportant
whither he strayed.
When he passed the front of the prison building, he saw a
carriage standing there which appeared known to him; for he
stopped and seemed to be reflecting. Then he turned to the
coachman, who in his tasseled fur cap nodded haughtily from
the box.
« Is anybody from Helenenthal here? ” he asked.
“Yes: master and the young lady. They have come to fetch
Mr. Meyerhofer. "
And directly after was heard from the steps: -
“Hey, holloa! there he is already — Elsbeth, see! there he is
already. ”
Paul jumped up the steps, and the two men lay in each
other's arms.
Then the heavy folding-doors were opened softly and timidly,
and let out a slender female figure clad in black, who, with a
melancholy smile, leaned against the wall and quietly waited
until the men unclasped each other.
(


## p. 14176 (#366) ##########################################

14176
HERMANN SUDERMANN
me
»)
There, you have him, Elsbeth! ” shouted the old man.
Hand in hand they stood opposite each other, and looked in
one another's eyes; then she leaned her head on his breast and
whispered, “Thank God that I am with you again! ”
"And in order that you may have each other all to yourself,
children,” said the old man, "you two shall drive home; and I
will meanwhile drink a bottle of claret to the health of my suc-
cessor. I am well off, for I retire from business this day. ”
“Mr. Douglas! ” exclaimed Paul, terrified.
"Father, I am called --- do you understand ? Let be
fetched towards evening. You are now master at home. Good-
by. ”
With that he strode down the steps.
« Come,” said Paul gently, with downcast eyes. Elsbeth went
after him with a shy smile; for now when they were alone, nei-
ther dared to approach the other.
And then they drove silently out on to the sunny, flowery
heath. Wild pinks, bluebells, and ground-ivy wove themselves
into a many-colored carpet; and the white meadow-sweet lifted
its waving blossoms, as if snowflakes had been strewn on the
flowers. The leaves of the weeping willow rustled softly, and
like a net of sparkling ribbons the little streams flowed along
beneath their branches. The warm air trembled, and yellow
butterflies Auttered up and down in couples.
Paul leaned back in the cushions, and gazed with half-shut
eyes at this profusion of charming sights.
"Are you happy? ” asked Elsbeth, leaning towards him.
"I don't know,” he answered: “it is too much for me. ”
She smiled: she well understood him.
«See there, our home! ” she said, pointing to the White
House, which stood out clear in the distance. He pressed her
hand, but his voice failed him.
At the edge of the wood the carriage had to stop.
Both got
out and proceeded on foot.
Then he saw that she carried a little white parcel under her
arm, which he had not seen before.
« What is that? ” he asked.
«You will soon see,” she answered, while a serious smile
crossed her face.
"A surprise ? ”
"A remembrance. "


## p. 14177 (#367) ##########################################

HERMANN SUDERMANN
14177
»
((
When they approached the opposite edge of the wood, he
said, pointing to two trees which stood twenty steps away from
the road:-
« Here is the place where I found you lying in your ham-
mock. ”
« Yes,” she said: “it was there also that I found out for the
first time that I should never be able to do without you. ”
"And there is the juniper-tree,” he continued, when they
stepped out into the fields, “where we -- and then he suddenly
»
cried aloud, and stretched out both his hands into space.
“What is the matter ? ” she exclaimed anxiously, looking up
at him. He had turned deathly pale, and his lips quivered.
“It is gone,” he stammered.
What ? »
“It-it- my own. ”
Where once the buildings of the Haidehof rose, there now
stretched a level plain; only a few trees spread out their miser-
able branches,
He could not accustom himself to this sight, and covered his
face with his hands, while he shivered feverishly.
“Do not be sad,” she pleaded. Papa would not have it re-
built before you could make your own arrangements. ”
“Let us go there,” he said.
“Please, please not,” she replied: “there is nothing to be seen
except a few heaps of ruins — at another time when you are not
so excited. ”
« But where shall I sleep? ”
“In the same room in which you were born — I have had it
arranged for you, and your mother's furniture put in. Can you
still say now that you have lost your home ? »
He pressed her hand gratefully; but she pointed to the juniper-
bush, which had struck them before.
“Let us go there,” she said; “lay your head on the mole-hill
and whistle something. Do you remember? ”
“I should think so! »
"How long is it since then?
« Seventeen years. ”
"O heavens, I have loved you so long already, and in the
mean time have become an old maid! And I have waited for
you
from year to year, but
you
would not see it. (He must
come at last,' I thought; but you did not come.
And then I was
discouraged, and thought, “You cannot force yourself upon him;
XXIV-887
(


## p. 14178 (#368) ##########################################

14178
HERMANN SUDERMANN
(
(
in reality he does not want you at all. You must come to some
resolution. ' And to put an end to all my longings, I accepted
my cousin, who for the last ten years had been dangling after
me. He had made me laugh so often, and I thought he would
- but enough of this — " and she shuddered. «Come, lie down
whistle. ”
He shook his head, and pointed with his hand silently across
the heath, where, on the horizon, three lonely fir-trees stretched
their rough arms towards the sky.
« Thither,” he said. “I cannot rest ere I have been there. "
"You are right," she replied; and hand in hand they walked
through the blooming heather, over which the wild bees were
swarming, sleepily humming.
When they entered the cemetery the clock at the White
House was striking noon. Twelve times it sounded in short
strokes; a soft echo quivered in the air, and then all was quiet
again: only the humming and singing continued.
His mother's grave was overgrown with ivy and wild myrtle,
and at its head rose the radiant blossom of a golden-rod. Be.
tween the leaves rust-colored ants were creeping, and a lizard
rustled down into the green depths.
Silently they both stood there, and Paul trembled. Neither
dared to interrupt the solemn stillness.
“Where have they buried my father? ” Paul asked at last.
«Your sisters took the body over to Lotkeim," answered Els-
beth.
« That is as well,” he replied. «She has been lonely all her
life: let her be so in death too. But to-morrow we will also go
over to him. ”
Will you go and see your sisters ? »
He shook his head sadly. Then they relapsed into silence.
He leaned his head on his hands and cried.
“Do not cry,” she said: "each one of you has now a home. ”
And then she took the little parcel that she held under her arm,
unfastened the white paper of the cover, and there appeared
an old manuscript book with torn cover and faded leaves.
“See,” she cried, “she sends you this, — her greeting. ”
“Where did you get it from ? ” he asked surprised, for he had
recognized his mother's handwriting.
“It lay in an old chest of drawers which was saved from the
fire, squeezed between the drawers and the back. It seems to
have een lying there ever since her death. "
»


## p. 14179 (#369) ##########################################

HERMANN SUDERMANN
14179
Then they sat down together on the grave, laid the book
between them on their knees, and began to study it. Now he
remembered that Katie, at the time when he surprised her with
her lover, had spoken of a song-book which had belonged to
their mother; but he had never made up his mind to ask after
it, because he did not want to bring to life again the painful
remembrance of that hour.
All sorts of old songs were in it, copied out neatly; near
them others half scratched out and corrected. The latter she
seemed to have reproduced from memory, or perhaps composed
herself.
And directly after stood written, in big letters, this title:-
THE FAIRY TALE OF DAME CARE
THERE was once a mother, to whom the good God had given a
son; but she was so poor and lonely that she had nobody who could
stand godmother to him. And she sighed, and said, “Where shall I
get a godmother from ? »
Then one evening at dusk there came a woman to her house who
was dressed in gray and had a gray veil over her head. She said,
“I will be your son's godmother, and I will take care that he grows
up a good man, and does not let you starve; but you must give me
his soul. ”
Then his mother trembled, and said, “Who are you? ”
“I am Dame Care," answered the gray woman; and the mother
wept; but as she suffered much from hunger, she gave the woman
her son's soul, and she was his godmother.
And her son grew up and worked hard to procure her bread. But
as he had no soul, he had no joy and no youth; and often he looked
at his mother with reproachful eyes, as if he would ask:-
“Mother, where is my soul ? ”
Then the mother grew sad, and went out to find him a soul.
She asked the stars in the sky, “Will you give me a soul ? ” But
they said, “He is too low for that. ”
And she asked the flowers on the heath: they said, “He is too
ugly. ”
And she asked the birds in the trees: they said, “He is too sad. ”
And she asked the high trees: they said, “He is too humble. ”
And she asked the clever serpents; but they said, “He is too
stupid. ”
Then she went away weeping. And in the wood she met a young
and beautiful princess surrounded by her court.
(


## p. 14180 (#370) ##########################################

14180
HERMANN SUDERMANN
a
>
And because she saw the mother weeping, she descended from
her horse, and took her to the castle, which was all built of gold and
precious stones.
There she asked, “Tell me why you weep? ” And the mother
told the princess of her grief, that she could not procure her son
soul, nor joy and youth.
Then said the princess, “I cannot see anybody weep: I will tell
you something - I will give him my soul. ”
Then the mother fell down before her and kissed her hands.
“But,” said the princess, “I will not do it for nothing: he must
ask me for it. Then the mother went to her son; but Dame Care
had laid her gray veil over his head, so that he was blind and could
not see the princess.
And the mother pleaded, “Dear Dame Care, set him free. "
But Care smiled, - and whoever saw her smile was forced to
weep,- and she said, “He must free himself. ”
“How can he do that? ) asked the mother.
“He must sacrifice to me all that he loves,” said Dame Care.
Then the mother grieved very much, and lay down and died.
But the princess waits for her suitor to this very day.
>
Mother, mother! ” he cried; and sank down on the grave.
« Come,” said Elsbeth, struggling with her tears, as she laid
her hand on his shoulder; “let mother be, - she is at peace.
And she shall not harm
your wicked Dame
Care! »
us any
more
>


## p. 14181 (#371) ##########################################

14181
EUGÈNE SUE
(1804-1857)
a
a
HE fame of Eugène Sue as the author of two works, “The
Wandering Jew) and “The Mysteries of Paris,' has spread
far beyond his own country. He wrote upwards of forty
other novels; he was very much of a personage in the social and
intellectual life of his day, when romanticism was popular in the lit-
erature of several lands. But those two fictions are now his pass-
port to consideration. They were extravagantly lauded in their time;
their vogue was great. Judged critically they have faults enough;
but their conspicuous merits can be detected
almost as easily now as when they were
written, half a century ago. Detached from
their time, they have permanent qualities
for success. Sue was
man of cultiva-
tion and social position, of much and ciose
observation: he had seen many men and
many things. Moreover he was born
story-teller, who had the knack of vivid
presentation, the feeling for drama. Again,
in his middle life he became interested
in socialistic ideas, and gave attention to
the state of the Parisian working-folk,- of
the poor and outcast. He put them into his EUGÈNE SUE
fiction with lavish detail, with sympathy
and picturesque power. It was a novel thing in fiction. It gave
Sue's stories what would now be called a “purpose ” flavor. It lent
»
fascination and raison d'être to his work. Sue was, like Dumas, an
improviser, and possessed remarkable fecundity and invention.
these qualities add the instinct for portraying the weird and the
terrible, and it is not hard to understand why he was popular in his
day, and retains a good share of that popularity still.
Both his father and grandfather were distinguished surgeons in
the navy. Eugène — Marie Joseph was his baptismal name, but he
took that of Eugène because Prince Eugène Beauharnais and the
Empress Joséphine were his sponsors — was born in Paris on Decem-
ber roth, 1804, and was sent to a city school. As a lad he was full
of pranks and of a lively wit. He was educated to his father's

-


## p. 14182 (#372) ##########################################

14182
EUGÈNE SUE
profession, and when twenty-three went aboard ship as a surgeon.
Six years he spent in the navy, storing up impressions and experi-
ences. He retired upon the death of his father in 1830, which made
him heir to a large fortune. At this juncture Sue was a fashionable
young fellow, with every temptation to become an idle man-about-
town; but there was good stuff in him, and he had a desire to exer-
cise his talents.
His turning to literature seemed accidental. At the opera one
evening, a friend who edited a dramatic paper suggested to Sue a
plot for a nautical tale. The latter went home and wrote it out,
and the editor and his readers liked it. This furnished the neces-
sary impulse for a series of novels, in which Sue made use of his
naval life, introducing a good deal of exotic color - as Pierre Loti
was to do later. Plick and Plock' (1831) was the first; and (Ker-
nock the Pirate, Attar Gull,' and 'La Coucaratcha,' are other
representative works of the class. They have the negligences and
extravagances of the hasty writer of talent; and situations and heroes
have a tendency to be Byronic. Their reception was flattering. Sue
became a literary idol; not only read by the multitude, but praised
by the best critics. Sainte-Beuve declared of these earlier stories
that Sue had been the first French writer to venture on the sea
story, and to discover the Mediterranean for literature. He was
hailed as the French Cooper.
A tone of worldliness and skepticism characterized Sue at this
stage of his career,- a mood to be thrown off in subsequent and
more earnest fiction. A period was put to his use of the sea by a
five-volume History of the French Navy,' which appeared in 1837,
and would perhaps have been taken more seriously had the author's
reputation as a romancer been less firmly established. After trying
his hand at historical romances like Latréaumont' and 'Jean Cava-
lier,' Sue became imbued gradually with socialistic doctrine, and
under this influence wrote “The Mysteries of Paris (1842) and “The
Wandering Jew) (1844-5). There is no question about the boldness
and brilliancy of conception in these books, nor of their earnestness
of intention and varied attraction. The former is not so much a
close-knit novel as a great number of loosely connected episodes and
pictures. Sue is eminently episodical; his canvas is a vast one, and
he crowds it with figures. Yet such is his gift that this social kalei-
doscope leaves distinct impressions; his moving scenes enthrall the
He is facile rather than deep; but his representation of
social misery and depravity in France did good in arousing people's
minds to the facts, as did Dickens's representation of similar evils in
England. In “The Wandering Jew,' the central idea of the wretch
doomed to wander for centuries from land to land, leaving woe in his


## p. 14183 (#373) ##########################################

EUGÈNE SUE
14183
tracks, is handled allegorically to suggest the release of this symbolic
personage as typical of the future release of humanity from all its
social bondage. In this romance again Sue is rambling and diffuse,
and lacks unity of construction. But there is genuine grandeur at
times, and much that is strong and striking. Such a work must
always command a wide audience, — witness the many editions and
translations. When these two romances were given to the public, the
romanticism of Dumas the elder on the one hand, and of Hugo on
the other,— the body and soul of the romantic, — was in the air. Sue
in both manner and matter contributed to this school of writers. He
had something of the narrative gift of Dumas, and of the ethical
earnestness of Hugo.
Eugène Sue's sympathy with radicalism was illustrated in practical
life when he sat for Paris in the Assembly of 1850,— being elected
by a very large majority. The child whose sponsors were royalty,
and whose early works savored strongly of court life and intrigue,
had come a long journey. The Coup d'État of 1852 drove him into
exile at Annecy in Switzerland, where he spent the remaining years
to his death on July 3d, 1857. This final period was active so far as
the making of novels is concerned: some eight or ten stories were
published, one posthumously; but they added nothing to his reputa-
tion, though showing that the increase of years had little effect upon
his fertility. But it is Eugène Sue's production during his middle
period — the manner and motive of “The Mysteries of Paris) and
(The Wandering Jew) — that make him an attractive figure, a favor-
ite writer of romance.
THE LAND'S END OF TWO WORLDS
TE
From "The Wandering Jew)
HE Arctic Ocean encircles with a belt of eternal ice the desert
confines of Siberia and North America — the uttermost lim-
its of the Old and New Worlds, separated by the narrow
channel known as Bering's Straits.
The last days of September have arrived.
The equinox has brought with it darkness and northern
storms, and night will quickly close the short and dismal polar
day. The sky, of a dull and leaden blue, is faintly lighted by a
sun without warmth, whose white disk, scarcely seen above the
horizon, pales before the dazzling brilliancy of the snow that cov-
ers, as far as the eyes can reach, the boundless steppes.


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14184
EUGÈNE SUE
a
To the north, this desert is bounded by a ragged coast, bris.
tling with huge black rocks.
At the base of this Titanic mass lies enchained the petrified
ocean, whose spell-bound waves appear fixed as vast ranges of
ice mountains; their blue peaks fading away in the far-off frost
smoke, or snow vapor.
Between the twin peaks of Cape East, the termination of
Siberia, the sullen sea is seen to drive tall icebergs across
streak of dead green. There lies Bering's Straits.
Opposite, and towering over the channel, rise the granite
masses of Cape Prince of Wales, the headland of North America.
These lonely latitudes do not belong to the habitable world:
for the piercing cold shivers the stones, splits the trees, and
causes the earth to burst asunder; which, throwing forth showers
of icy spangles, seems capable of enduring this solitude of frost
and tempest, of famine and death.
And yet, strange to say, footprints may be traced on the
snow covering these headlands on either side of Bering's Straits.
On the American shore the footprints are small and light,
thus betraying the passage of a woman.
She has been hastening up the rocky peak, whence the drifts
of Siberia are visible.
On the latter ground, footprints larger and deeper betoken the
passing of a man. He also was on his way to the Straits.
It would seem that this man and woman had arrived here
from opposite directions, in hope of catching a glimpse of one
another across the arm of the sea dividing the two worlds — the
Old and the New.
More strange still! the man and the woman have crossed the
solitudes during a terrific storm. Black pines, the growth of
centuries, pointing their bent heads in different parts of the soli-
tude like crosses in a church-yard, have been uprooted, rent, and
hurled aside by the blasts!
Yet the two travelers face this furious tempest, which has
plucked up trees, and pounded the frozen masses into splinters,
with the roar of thunder,
They face it, without for one single instant deviating from
the straight line hitherto followed by them.
Who then are these two beings, who advance thus calmly
amidst the storms and convulsions of nature ?


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EUGÈNE SUE
14185
Is it by chance, or design, or destiny, that the seven nails in
the sole of the man's shoe form a cross — thus:
*
***
*
*
**
Everywhere he leaves this impress behind him.
On the smooth and polished snow, these footmarks seem im-
printed by a foot of brass on a marble floor.
Night without twilight has soon succeeded day — a night of
foreboding gloom.
The brilliant reflection of the snow renders the white steppes
still visible beneath the azure darkness of the sky; and the pale
stars glimmer on the obscure and frozen dome.
Solemn silence reigns.
But towards the Straits a faint light appears.
At first, a gentle, bluish light, such as precedes moonrise; it
increases in brightness, and assumes a ruddy hue.
Darkness thickens in every other direction: the white wilds of
the desert are now scarcely visible under the black vault of the
firmament.
Strange and confused noises are heard amidst this obscurity.
They sound like the fight of large night birds: now flapping
- now heavily skimming over the steppes - now descending.
But no cry is heard.
The silent terror heralds the approach of one of those impos-
ing phenomena that awe alike the most ferocious and the most
harmless of animated beings. An Aurora Borealis, (magnificent
sight! ) common in the polar regions, suddenly beams forth.
A half-circle of dazzling whiteness becomes visible in the
horizon. Immense columns of light stream forth from this daz-
zling centre, rising to a great height, illuminating earth, sea, and
sky. Then a brilliant reflection, like the blaze of a conflagration,
steals over the snow of the desert, purples the summits of the
mountains of ice, and imparts a dark-red hue to the black rocks
of both continents.


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14186
EUGÈNE SUE
After attaining this magnificent brilliancy, the Aurora faded
away gradually, and its vivid glow was lost in a luminous fog.
Just then, by a wondrous mirage, - an effect very common
in high latitudes, - the American coast, though separated from
Siberia by a broad arm of the sea, loomed so close that a bridge
might seemingly be thrown from one world to the other.
Then human forms appeared in the transparent azure haze
overspreading both forelands.
On the Siberian cape, a man
on his knees stretched his arms
towards America, with an expression of inconceivable despair.
On the American promontory, a young and handsome woman
replied to the man's despairing gesture by pointing to heaven.
For some seconds, these two tall figures stood out, pale and
shadowy, in the farewell gleams of the Aurora.
But the fog thickens, and all is lost in darkness.
Whence came the two beings, who met thus amidst polar gla-
ciers at the extremities of the Old and New Worlds ?
Who were the two creatures, brought near for a moment by a
deceitful mirage, but who seemed eternally separated ?
THE PANTHER FIGHT
From “The Wandering Jew)
T"
He pantomime opening, by which was introduced the combat
of Morok with the black panther, was so unmeaning that
the majority of the audience paid no attention to it, reserv-
ing all their interest for the scene in which the lion-tamer was
to make his appearance.
This indifference of the public explains the curiosity excited
in the theatre by the arrival of Faringhea and Djalma; a curios-
ity which expressed itself (as at this day, when uncommon foreign-
ers appear in public) by a slight murmur and general movement
amongst the crowd. The sprightly, pretty face of Rose-Pompon
— always charming, in spite of her singularly staring dress, in
style so ridiculous for such a theatre, and her light and familiar
manner towards the handsome Indian who accompanied her -
increased and animated the general surprise; for at this moment
Rose-Pompon, yielding without reserve to a movement of teas-
ing coquetry, had held up, as we have already stated, her large


## p. 14187 (#377) ##########################################

EUGÈNE SUE
14187
bunch of roses to Djalma. But the prince, at sight of the land-
scape which reminded him of his country, instead of appearing
sensible to this pretty provocation, remained for some minutes
as in a dream, with his eyes fixed upon the stage. Then Rose-
Pompon began to beat time on the front of the box with her
bouquet, whilst the somewhat too visible movement of her pretty
shoulders showed that this devoted dancer was thinking of fast-
life dances, as the orchestra struck up a more lively strain.
Placed directly opposite the box in which Faringhea, Djalma,
and Rose-Pompon had just taken their seats, Lady Morinval soon
perceived the arrival of these two personages, and particularly
the eccentric coquetries of Rose-Pompon. Immediately the young
marchioness, leaning over towards Mademoiselle de Cardoville,
who was still absorbed in memories ineffable, said to her, laugh-
ing, "My dear, the most amusing part of the performance is not
upon the stage. Look just opposite. ”
"Just opposite ? ” repeated Adrienne mechanically; and turn-
ing towards Lady Morinval with an air of surprise, she glanced
in the direction pointed out.
She looked -- what did she see ? - Djalma seated by the side
of a young woman, who was familiarly offering to his sense of
smell the perfume of her bouquet. Amazed — struck almost lit-
erally to the heart, as by an electric shock, swift, sharp, and pain-
ful— Adrienne became deadly pale. From instinct, she shut her
eyes for a second in order not to see — as men try to ward off
the dagger, which, having once dealt the blow, threatens to strike
again. Then suddenly, to this feeling of grief succeeded a reflec-
tion terrible both to her love and to her wounded pride.
“Djalma is present with this woman, though he must have
received my letter,” she said to herself, “wherein he was in-
formed of the happiness that awaited him. ”
At the idea of so cruel an insult, a blush of shame and indig-
nation displaced the paleness of Adrienne; who, overwhelmed by
this sad reality, said to herself, Rodin did not deceive me. ”
We abandon all idea of picturing the lightning-like rapidity of
certain emotions, which in a moment may torture — may kill you
in the space of a minute. Thus Adrienne was precipitated from
the most radiant happiness to the lowest depths of an abyss of
the most heart-rending grief, in less than a second; for a second
had hardly elapsed before she replied to Lady Morinval: “What
is there then so curious, opposite to us, my dear Julia ? ”
(
((
)


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