No More Learning

The best biography of Abélard is that by Charles de Rémusat (2
vols. , 8vo, Paris, 1845). See also, in English, Wight's Abelard and
Eloise (New York, 1853).
Hlavar Dave
A , a ,
HÉLOÏSE TO ABÉLARD
LETTER of yours sent to a friend, best beloved, to console him
in affliction, was lately, almost by a chance, put into my
hands. Seeing the superscription, guess how eagerly I
seized it! I had lost the reality; I hoped to draw some comfort
from this faint image of you. But alas ! - for I well remember -
every line was written with gall and wormwood.
How you retold our sorrowful history, and dwelt on your inces-
sant afflictions! Well did you fulfill that promise to your friend,


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28
ABÉLARD
-
I and my
that, in comparison with your own, his misfortunes should seem
but as trifles. You recalled the persecutions of your masters, the
cruelty of my uncle, and the fierce hostility of your fellow-pupils,
Albericus of Rheims, and Lotulphus of Lombardy — how through
their plottings that glorious book your Theology was burned, and
you confined and disgraced — you went on to the machinations of
the Abbot of St. Denys and of your false brethren of the con-
vent, and the calumnies of those wretches, Norbert and Bernard,
who envy and hate you. It was even, you say, imputed to you
as an offense to have given the name of Paraclete, contrary to
the common practice, to the Oratory you had founded.
The persecutions of that cruel tyrant of St. Gildas, and of
those execrable monks, - monks out of greed only, whom notwith-
standing you call your children, - which still harass you, close the
miserable history. Nobody could read or hear these things and
not be moved to tears. What then must they mean to me?
We all despair of your life, and our trembling hearts dread to
hear the tidings of your murder. For Christ's sake, who has
thus far protected you,--write to us, as to His handmaids and
yours, every circumstance of your present dangers.
sisters alone remain of all who were your friends. Let us be
sharers of your joys and sorrows. Sympathy brings some relief,
and a load laid on many shoulders is lighter. And write the more
surely, if your letters may be messengers of joy. Whatever mes-
sage they bring, at least they will show that you remember us.
You can write to comfort your friend: while you soothe his
wounds, you inflame mine. Heal, I pray you, those you yourself
have made, you who bustle about to cure those for which you are
not responsible. You cultivate a vineyard you did not plant,
which grows nothing. Give heed to what you owe your own.
You who spend so much on the obstinate, consider what you owe
the obedient. You who lavish pains on your enemies, reflect on
.
what you owe your daughters. And, counting nothing else, think
how you are bound to me! What you owe to all devoted women,
pay to her who is most devoted.
You know better than I how many treatises the holy fathers
of the Church have written for our instruction; how they have
labored to inform, to advise, and to console us. Is my ignorance
to suggest knowledge to the learned Abélard ? Long ago, indeed,
your neglect astonished me. Neither religion, nor love of me, nor
the example of the holy fathers, moved you to try to fix my


## p. 29 (#43) ##############################################

ABÉLARD
29
struggling soul. Never, even when long grief had worn me down,
,
did you come to see me, or send me one line of comfort, -me, to
whom you were bound by marriage, and who clasp you about with
a measureless love! And for the sake of this love have I no
right to even a thought of yours ?
You well know, dearest, how much I lost in losing you, and
that the manner of it put me to double torture. You only can
comfort me. By you I was wounded, and by you I must be
healed. And it is only you on whom the debt rests. I have
obeyed the last tittle of your commands; and if you bade me, I
would sacrifice my soul.
To please you my love gave up the only thing in the universe
it valued — the hope of your presence — and that forever. The
instant I received your commands I quitted the habit of the
world, and denied all the wishes of my nature. I meant to give
up, for your sake, whatever I had once a right to call my own.
God knows it was always you, and you only that I thought of.
I looked for no dowry, no alliance of marriage. And if the name
of wife is holier and more exalted, the name of friend always
remained sweeter to me, or if you would not be angry, a meaner
title; since the more I gave up, the less should I injure your
present renown, and the more deserve your love.
Nor had you yourself forgotten this in that letter which I
recall. You are ready enough to set forth some of the reasons
which I used to you, to persuade you not to fetter your freedom,
but you pass over most of the pleas I made to withhold you from
our ill-fated wedlock. I call God to witness that if Augustus,
ruler of the world, should think me worthy the honor of marriage,
and settle the whole globe on me to rule forever, it would seem
dearer and prouder to me to be called your mistress than his
empress.
Not because a man is rich or powerful is he better : riches
and power may come from luck, constancy is from virtue. I
hold that woman base who weds a rich man rather than a poor
one, and takes a husband for her own gain. Whoever marries
with such a motive—why, she will follow his prosperity rather
than the man, and be willing to sell herself to a richer suitor.
That happiness which others imagine, best beloved, I experi-
enced. Other women might think their husbands perfect, and be
happy in the idea, but I knew that you were so and the universe
knew the same.
What philosopher, what king, could rival your


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30
ABÉLARD
fame? What village, city, kingdom, was not on fire to see you?
When you appeared in public, who did not run to behold you ?
Wives and maidens alike recognized your beauty and grace.
Queens envied Héloïse her Abélard.
Two gifts you had to lead captive the proudest soul, your voice
that made all your teaching a delight, and your singing, which
was like no other. Do you forget those tender songs you wrote
for me, which all the world caught up and sang,— but not like
you,-
nose songs that kept your name ever floating in the air,
and made me known through many lands, the envy and the scorn
of women ?
What gifts of mind, what gifts of person glorified you ! Oh,
my loss! Who would change places with me now !
And you know, Abelard, that though I am the great cause
of your misfortunes, I am most innocent. For a consequence is
no part of a crime. Justice weighs not the thing done, but the
intention. And how pure was my intention toward you, you alone
can judge. Judge me! I will submit.
But how happens it, tell me, that since my profession of the
life which you alone determined, I have been so neglected and so
forgotten that you will neither see me nor write to me? Make
me understand it, if you can, or I must tell you what everybody
says : that it was not a pure love like mine that held your heart,
and that your coarser feeling vanished with absence and ill-report.
Would that to me alone this seemed so, best beloved, and not to
all the world! Would that I could hear others excuse you, or
devise excuses myself !
The things I ask ought to seem very small and easy to you.
While I starve for you, do, now and then, by words, bring back
your presence to me! How can you be generous in deeds if you
so avaricious in words? I have done everything for your
sake. It was not religion that dragged me, a young girl, so fond
of life, so ardent, to the harshness of the convent, but only your
command.
If I deserve nothing from you, how vain is my labor !
God will not recompense me, for whose love I have done nothing.
When you resolved to take the vows, I followed, - rather, I
ran before.
You had the image of Lot's wife before your eyes ;
you feared I might look back, and therefore you deeded me to
God by the sacred vestments and irrevocable vows before you
took them yourself. For this, I own, I grieved, bitterly ashamed
that I could depend on you so little, when I would lead or follow
are


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ABÉLARD
31
you straight to perdition. For my soul is always with you and
no longer mine own. And if it is not with you in these last
wretched years, it is nowhere. Do receive it kindly. Oh, if only
you had returned favor for favor, even a little for the much,
words for things! Would, beloved, that your affection would not
take my tenderness and obedience always for granted ; that it
might be more anxious! But just because I have poured out all
I have and am, you give me nothing. Remember, oh, remember
how much you owe !
There was a time when people doubted whether I had given
you all my heart, asking nothing. But the end shows how I
began. I have denied myself a life which promised at least peace
and work in the world, only to obey your hard exactions. I have
kept back nothing for myself, except the comfort of pleasing you.
How hard and cruel are you then, when I ask so little and that
little is so easy for you to give !
In the name of God, to whom you are dedicate, send me some
lines of consolation. Help me to learn obedience! When you
wooed me because earthly love was beautiful, you sent me letter
after letter. With your divine singing every street and house
echoed my name ! How much more ought you now to persuade
to God her whom then you turned from Him ! Heed what I ask ;
think what you owe. I have written a long letter, but the ending
shall be short. Farewell, darling !
ABÉLARD'S ANSWER TO HÉLOÏSE
I"
To Héloïse, his best beloved Sister in Christ,
Abélard, her Brother in Him:
F, SINCE we resigned the world I have not written to you, it was
because of the high opinion I have ever entertained of your
wisdom and prudence. How could I think that she stood in
need of help on whom Heaven had showered its best gifts? You
were able, I knew, by example as by word, to instruct the igno-
rant, to comfort the timid, to kindle the lukewarm.
When prioress of Argenteuil, you practiced all these duties;
and if you give the same attention to your daughters that you
then gave to your sisters, it is enough. All my exhortations would
be needless.
But if, in your humility, you think otherwise, and if
my words can avail you anything, tell me on what subjects you
would have me write, and as God shall direct me I will instruct


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ABÉLARD
32
may be.
you. I thank God that the constant dangers to which I am
exposed rouse your sympathies. Thus I may hope, under the
divine protection of your prayers, to see Satan bruised under my
feet.
Therefore I hasten to send you the form of prayer you
beseech of me — you, my sister, once dear to me in the world, but
now far dearer in Christ. Offer to God a constant sacrifice of
prayer. Urge him to pardon our great and manifold sins, and to
avert the dangers which threaten me. We know how powerful
before God and his saints are the prayers of the faithful, but
chiefly of faithful women for their friends, and of wives for their
husbands. The Apostle admonishes us to pray without ceasing.
But I will not insist on the supplications of your sister-
hood, day and night devoted to the service of their Maker; to
you only do I turn. I well know how powerful your intercession
I pray you, exert it in this my need. In your prayers,
then, ever remember him who, in a special sense, is yours. Urge
your entreaties, for it is just that you should be heard. An equi-
table judge cannot refuse it.
In former days, you remember, best beloved, how fervently
you recommended me to the care of Providence. Often in the
day you uttered a special petition. Removed now from the Para-
clete, and surrounded by perils, how much greater my need! Con-
vince me of the sincerity of your regard, I entreat, I implore you.
[The Prayer:] "O God, who by Thy servant didst here assem-
ble Thy handmaids in Thy Holy Name, grant, we beseech Thee,
that he be protected from all adversity, and be restored safe to
us, Thy handmaids. ”
If Heaven permit my enemies to destroy me, or if I perish by
accident, see that my body is conveyed to the Paraclete. There,
my daughters, or rather my sisters in Christ, seeing my tomb, will
not cease to implore Heaven for me. No resting-place is so safe
for the grieving soul, forsaken in the wilderness of its sins, none
so full of hope as that which is dedicated to the Paraclete — that
is, the Comforter.
Where could a Christian find a more peaceful grave than in
the society of holy women, consecrated by God? They, as the
Gospel tells us, would not leave their divine Master; they em-
balmed His body with precious spices; they followed Him to the
tomb, and there they held their vigil. In return, it was to them
that the angel of the resurrection appeared for their consolation.


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ABÉLARD
33
Finally, let me entreat you that the solicitude you now too
strongly feel for my life you will extend to the repose of my soul.
Carry into my grave the love you showed me when alive; that is,
never forget to pray Heaven for me.
Long life, farewell! Long life, farewell, to your sisters also!
Remember me, but let it be in Christ!
Translated for the (World's Best Literature. )
THE VESPER HYMN OF ABÉLARD
0"
H, WHAT shall be, oh, when shall be that holy Sabbath day,
Which heavenly care shall ever keep and celebrate alway,
When rest is found for weary limbs, when labor hath
reward,
When everything forevermore is joyful in the Lord ?
The true Jerusalem above, the holy town, is there,
Whose duties are so full of joy, whose joy so free from care;
Where disappointment cometh not to check the longing heart,
And where the heart, in ecstasy, hath gained her better part.
O glorious King, O happy state, O palace of the blest!
O sacred place and holy joy, and perfect, heavenly rest!
To thee aspire thy citizens in glory's bright array,
And what they feel and what they know they strive in vain to say.
For while we wait and long for home, it shall be ours to raise
Our songs and chants and vows and prayers in that dear coun-
try's praise;
And from these Babylonian streams to lift our weary eyes,
And view the city that we love descending from the skies.
There, there, secure from every ill, in freedom we shall sing
The songs of Zion, hindered here by days of suffering,
And unto Thee, our gracious Lord, our praises shall confess
That all our sorrow hath been good, and Thou by pain canst bless.
There Sabbath day to Sabbath day sheds on a ceaseless light,
Eternal pleasure of the saints who keep that Sabbath bright;
Nor shall the chant ineffable decline, nor ever cease,
Which we with all the angels sing in that sweet realm of peace.
Translation of Dr. Samuel W. Duffield.
1-3


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34
EDMOND ABOUT
(1828–1885)
E
ARLY in the reign of Louis Napoleon, a serial story called
(Tolla,' a vivid study of social life in Rome, delighted the
readers of the Revue des Deux Mondes. When published
in book form in 1855 it drew a storm of opprobrium upon its young
author, who was accused of offering as his own creation a translation
of the Italian work (Vittoria Savorelli. ' This charge, undoubtedly
unjust, he indignantly refuted. It served at least to make his name
well known. Another book, "La Question Romaine,' a brilliant if
somewhat superficial argument against the temporal power of pope
and priests, was a philosophic employment
of the same material. Appearing in 1860,
about the epoch of the French invasion of
Austrian Italy, its tone agreed with popular
sentiment and it was favorably received.
Edmond François Valentin About had a
freakish, evasive, many-sided personality, a
nature drawn in too many directions to
achieve in any one of these the success his
talents warranted. He was born in Dreuze,
and like most French boys of literary am-
bition, soon found his way to Paris, where
EDMOND ABOUT
he studied at the Lycée Charlemagne. Here
he won the honor prize; and in 1851 was sent to Athens to study
archæology at the École Française. He loved change and out-of-
the-way experiences, and two studies resulted from this trip: "La
Grèce Contemporaine,' a book of charming philosophic description;
and the delightful story "Le Roi des Montagnes' (The King of the
Mountains). This tale of the long-limbed German student, enveloped
in the smoke from his porcelain pipe as he recounts a series of
impossible adventures, — those of himself and two English women,
captured for ransom by Hadgi Stavros, brigand king in the Grecian
mountains, —is especially characteristic of About in the humorous
atmosphere of every situation.
About wrote stories so easily and well that his early desertion of
fiction is surprising. His mocking spirit has often suggested compar-
ison with Voltaire, whom he studied and admired. He too is a skep-
tic and an idol-breaker; but his is a kindlier irony, a less incisive
philosophy. Perhaps, however, this influence led to lack of faith in
his own work, to his loss of an ideal, which Zola thinks the real



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EDMOND ABOUT
35
secret of his sudden change from novelist to journalist. Voltaire
taught him to scoff and disbelieve, to demand « à quoi bon ? » and that
took the heart out of him. He was rather fond of exposing abuses,
a habit that appears in those witty letters to the Gaulois which in
1878 obliged him to suspend that journal. His was a positive mind,
interested in political affairs, and with something always ready to
say upon them.
In 1872 he founded a radical newspaper, Le XIXme
Siècle (The Nineteenth Century), in association with another aggress-
ive spirit, that of Francisque Sarcey. For many years he proved his
ability as editor, business man, and keen polemist.
He tried drama, too, inevitable ambition of young French authors;
but after the failure of “Guillery) at the Théâtre Française and
Gaétena' at the Odéon, renounced the theatre. Indeed, his power
is in odd conceptions, in the covert laugh and humorous suggestion
of the phrasing, rather than in plot or characterization. He will
always be best known for the tales and novels in that thoroughly
French style — clear, concise, and witty — which in 1878 elected him
president of the Société des Gens de Lettres, and in 1884 won him a
seat in the Academy.
About wrote a number of novels, most of them as well known
in translation to English and American readers as to his French
audience. The bright stories originally published in the Moniteur,
afterward collected with the title 'Les Mariages de Paris,' had a con-
spicuous success, and were followed by a companion volume, Les
Mariages de Province. L'Homme à l'Oreille Cassée' (The Man
with the Broken Ear) — the story of a mummy resuscitated to a world
of new conditions after many years of apparent death — shows his
freakish delight in oddity. So does 'Le Nez du Notaire) (The
Notary's Nose), a gruesome tale of the tribulations of a handsome
society man, whose nose is struck off in a duel by a revengeful Turk.
The victim buys a bit of living skin from a poor water-carrier, and
obtains a new nose by successful grafting. But he can nevermore get
rid of the uncongenial Aquarius, who exercises occult influence over
the skin with which he has parted. When he drinks too much, the
Notary's nose is red; when he starves, it dwindles away; when he
loses the arm from which the graft was made, the important feature
drops off altogether, and the sufferer must needs buy a silver one.
About's latest novel, “Le Roman d'un Brave Homme (The Story of
an Honest Man), is in quite another vein, a charming picture of
bourgeois virtue in revolutionary days. "Madelon' and 'La Vielle
Roche' (The Old School) are also popular.
French critics have not found much to say of this non-evolutionist
of letters, who is neither pure realist nor pure romanticist, and who
has no new theory of art. Some, indeed, may have scorned him for


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36
EDMOND ABOUT
the wise taste which refuses to tread the debatable ground common
to French fiction. But the reading public has received him with less
conscious analysis, and has delighted in him.
If he sees only what
any clever man may see, and is no profound psychologist, yet he
tells what he sees and what he imagines with delightful spirit and
delightful wit, and tinges the fabric of his fancy with the ever-chan-
ging colors of his own versatile personality, fanciful suggestions,
homely realism, and bright antithesis. Above all, he has the great
gift of the story-teller.
THE CAPTURE
"S"
From "The King of the Mountains)
r! ST! ”
I raised my eyes.
Two thickets of mastic-trees and arbutus
inclosed the road on the right and left. From each tuft
of trees protruded three or four musket-barrels. A voice cried
out in Greek, “Seat yourselves on the ground! ” This operation
was the more easy to me, as my legs gave way under me. But I
consoled myself by thinking that Ajax, Agamemnon, and the fiery
Achilles, if they had found themselves in the same situation, would
not have refused the seat that was offered.
The musket-barrels were leveled upon us. It seemed to me
that they stretched out immeasurably, and that their muzzles were
about to join above our heads. It was not that fear disturbed my
vision; but I had never remarked so sensibly the desperate length
of the Greek muskets! The whole arsenal soon debouched into
the road, and every barrel showed its stock and its master.
The only difference which exists between devils and brigands
is, that devils are less black than they are said to be, and brigands
more dirty than people suppose. The eight bullies, who packed
themselves in a circle around us, were so filthy in appearance that
I should have wished to give them my money with a pair of tongs.
You might guess, with a little effort, that their caps had been
red; but lye-wash itself could not have restored the original color
of their clothes. All the rocks of the kingdom had stained their
cotton shirts, and their vests preserved a sample of the different
soils on which they had reposed. Their hands, their faces, and
even their moustachios were of a reddish-gray, like the soil which
supports them. Every animal is colored according to its abode
and its habits: the foxes of Greenland are of the color of snow;


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EDMOND ABOUT
37
lions, of the desert; partridges, of the furrow; Greek brigands, of
the highway.
The chief of the little troop which had made us prisoners was
distinguished by no outward mark. Perhaps, however, his face,
his hands, and his clothes were richer in dust than those of his
comrades. He leaned toward us from the height of his tall figure,
and examined us so closely that I felt the grazing of his mous-
tachios. You would have pronounced him a tiger, who smells of
his prey before tasting it. When his curiosity was satisfied, he
said to Dimitri, «Empty your pockets! ”
Dimitri did not give him cause to repeat the order: he threw
down before him a knife, a tobacco-pouch, and three Mexican
dollars, which compose a sum of about sixteen francs.
“Is that all ? ” demanded the brigand.
« Yes, brother. ”
“You are the servant ? »
“Yes, brother. »
« Take back one dollar. You must not return to the city
without money. ”
Dimitri haggled. “You could well allow me two,” said he: "I
have two horses below; they are hired from the riding-school; I
shall have to pay for the day. ”
"You will explain to Zimmerman that we have taken your
money from you. ”
"And if he wishes to be paid, notwithstanding ?
"Answer that he is lucky enough to see his horses again. ”
“He knows very well that you do not take horses. What
would you do with them in the mountains ? ”
« Enough! What is this big raw-boned animal next you ? ”
I answered for myself: "An honest German, whose spoils will
not enrich you. "
«You speak Greek well. Empty your pockets. ”
I deposited on the road a score of francs, my tobacco, my
pipe, and my handkerchief.
“What is that? ” asked the grand inquisitor.
"A handkerchief. "
« For what purpose ? '
“To wipe my nose. ”
"Why did you tell me that you were poor? It is only milords
who wipe their noses with handkerchiefs. Take off the box which
you have behind your back. Good! Open it!


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38
EDMOND ABOUT
My box contained some plants, a book, a knife, a little pack-
age of arsenic, a gourd nearly empty, and the remnants of my
breakfast, which kindled a look of covetousness in the eyes of
Mrs. Simons. I had the assurance to offer them to her before my
baggage changed masters. She accepted greedily, and began to
devour the bread and meat. To my great astonishment, this act
of gluttony scandalized our robbers, who murmured among them-
selves the word “Schismatic! ” The monk made half a dozen
signs of the cross, according to the rite of the Greek Church.
“You must have a watch," said the brigand: "put it with the
rest. »
I gave up my silver watch, a hereditary toy of the weight
of four ounces. The villains passed it from hand to hand, and
thought it very beautiful. I was in hopes that admiration, which
makes men better, would dispose them to restore me something,
and I begged their chief to let me have my tin box. He imposed
silence upon me roughly. “At least,” said I, "give me back two
crowns for my return to the city! ” He answered with a sardonic
smile, “You will not have need of them. ”
The turn of Mrs. Simons had come. Before putting her hand
in her pocket, she warned our conquerors in the language of her
fathers. The English is one of those rare idioms which one can
speak with a mouth full. « Reflect well on what you are going to
do,” said she, in a menacing tone. "I am an English woman, and
English subjects are inviolable in all the countries of the world.
What you will take from me will serve you little, and will cost
you dear. England will avenge me, and you will all be hanged,
to say the least. Now if you wish my money, you have only to
speak; but it will burn your fingers: it is English money! ”
What does she say? " asked the spokesman of the brigands.
Dimitri answered, "She says that she is English. ”
“So much the better! All the English are rich. Tell her to
do as you have done. ”
The poor lady emptied on the sand a purse, which contained
twelve sovereigns. As her watch was not in sight, and as they
made no show of searching us, she kept it. The clemency of the
conquerors left her her pocket-handkerchief.
Mary Ann threw down her watch, with a whole bunch of
charms against the evil eye. She cast before her, by a movement
full of mute grace, a shagreen bag, which she carried in her belt.
The brigand opened it with the eagerness of a custom-house


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EDMOND ABOUT
39
officer. He drew from it a little English dressing-case, a vial of
English salts, a box of pastilles of English mint, and a hundred
and some odd francs in English money.
"Now,” said the impatient beauty, you can let us go: we
have nothing more for you. ” They indicated to her, by a men-
acing gesture, that the session was not ended. The chief of the
band squatted down before our spoils, called “the good old man,”
counted the money in his presence, and delivered to him the sum
of forty-five francs. Mrs. Simons nudged me on the elbow. "You
see,” said she, “the monk and Dimitri have betrayed us: he is
dividing the spoils with them. ”
“No, madam,” replied I, immediately. “Dimitri has received
a mere pittance from that which they had stolen from him. It is
a thing which is done everywhere. On the banks of the Rhine,
when a traveler is ruined at roulette, the conductor of the game
gives him something wherewith to return home. ”
« But the monk ? ”
“He has received a tenth part of the booty in virtue of an
immemorial custom. Do not reproach him, but rather be thank-
ful to him for having wished to save us, when his convent was
interested in our capture. ”
This discussion was interrupted by the farewells of Dimitri.
They had just set him at liberty.
“Wait for me,” said I to him: “we will return together. ” He
shook his head sadly, and answered me in English, so as to be
understood by the ladies:-
“You are prisoners for some days, and you will not see Ath-
ens again before paying a ransom. I am going to inform the
milord. Have these ladies any messages to give me for him ? »
« Tell him,” cried Mrs. Simons, “to run to the embassy, to
go then to the Piræus and find the admiral, to complain at the
foreign office, to write to Lord Palmerston! They shall take us
away from here by force of arms, or by public authority, but I
do not intend that they shall disburse a penny for my liberty. ”
"As for me,” replied I, without so much passion, "I beg you
to tell my friends in what hands you have left me. If some hun-
dreds of drachms are necessary to ransom a poor devil of a nat-
uralist, they will find them without trouble. These gentlemen of
the highway cannot rate me very high. I have a mind, while
you are still here, to ask them what I am worth at the lowest
price. ”


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40
EDMOND ABOUT
It is not they
"It would be useless, my dear Mr. Hermann!
who fix the figures of your ransom. ”
“And who then ? »
« Their chief, Hadgi-Stavros. ”
HADGI-STAVROS
From "The King of the Mountains)
The
seven
HE camp of the King was a plateau, covering a surface of
or eight hundred metres. I looked in vain for the
tents of our conquerors. The brigands are not sybarites,
and they sleep under the open sky on the 30th of April. I saw
neither spoils heaped up nor treasures displayed, nor any of those
things which one expects to find at the headquarters of a band
of robbers. Hadgi-Stavros makes it his business to have the
booty sold ; every man receives his pay in money, and employs it
as he chooses. Some make investments in commerce, others take
mortgages on houses in Athens, others buy land in their villages ;
no one squanders the products of robbery. Our arrival inter-
rupted the breakfast of twenty-five or thirty men, who flocked
around us with their bread and cheese. The chief supports his
soldiers; there is distributed to them every day one ration of
bread, oil, wine, cheese, caviare, allspice, bitter olives, and meat
when their religion permits it. The epicures who wish to eat
mallows or other herbs are at liberty to gather delicacies in the
mountains.
The office of the King was as much like an office as the camp
of the robbers was like a camp. Neither tables nor chairs nor
movables of any sort were to be seen there. Hadgi-Stavros was
seated cross-legged on a square carpet in the shade of a fir-tree.
Four secretaries and two servants were grouped around him. A
boy of sixteen or eighteen was occupied incessantly in filling,
lighting, and cleaning the chibouk of his master. He carried in
his belt a tobacco-pouch, embroidered with gold and fine mother-
of-pearl, and a pair of silver pincers intended for taking up coals.
Another servant passed the day in preparing cups of coffee,
glasses of water, and sweetmeats to refresh the royal mouth. The
secretaries, seated on the bare rock, wrote on their knees, with
pens made of reeds.
Each of them had at hand a long copper
box containing reeds, penknife, and inkhorn. Some tin cylinders,


## p. 41 (#55) ##############################################

EDMOND ABOUT
41
like those in which our soldiers roll up their discharges, served
as a depository for the archives. The paper was not of native
manufacture, and for a good reason. Every leaf bore the word
BATH in capital letters.
The King was a fine old man, marvelously well preserved,
straight, slim, supple as a spring, spruce and shining as a new
sabre. His long white moustachios hung under his chin like two
marble stalactites. The rest of his face was carefully shaved, the
skull bare even to the occiput, where a long tress of white hair
was rolled up under his hat. The expression of his features ap-
peared to me calm and thoughtful. A pair of small, clear blue
eyes and a square chin announced an indomitable will. His face
was long, and the position of the wrinkles lengthened it still more.
All the creases of the forehead were broken in the middle, and
seemed to direct themselves toward the meeting of the eyebrows;
two wide and deep furrows descended perpendicularly to the
corners of the lips, as if the weight of the moustachios had
drawn in the muscles of the face.
I have seen a good many septuagenarians ; I have even dis-
sected one who would have reached a hundred years, if the dili-
gence of Osnabrück had not passed over his body : but I do not
remember to have observed a more green and robust old age
than that of Hadgi-Stavros. He wore the dress of Tino and of
all the islands of the Archipelago. His red cap formed a large
crease at its base around his forehead. He had a vest of black
cloth, faced with black silk, immense blue pantaloons which con-
tained more than twenty metres of cotton cloth, and great boots
of Russia leather, elastic and stout. The only rich thing in his
costume was a scarf embroidered with gold and precious stones,
which might be worth two or three thousand francs. It inclosed
in its folds an embroidered cashmere purse, a Damascus sanjar
in a silver sheath, a long pistol mounted in gold and rubies, and
the appropriate baton.
Quietly seated in the midst of his employees, Hadgi-Stavros
moved only the ends of his fingers and his lips; the lips to dic-
tate his correspondence, the fingers to count the beads in his
chaplet. It was one of those beautiful chaplets of milky amber
which do not serve to number prayers, but to amuse the solemn
idleness of the Turk.
He raised his head at our approach, guessed at a glance the
occurrence which had brought us there, and said to us, with a


## p. 42 (#56) ##############################################

42
EDMOND ABOUT
gravity which had in it nothing ironical, “You are welcome! Be
seated. ”
«Sir, cried Mrs. Simons, "I am an English woman, and — »
He interrupted the discourse by making his tongue smack against
the teeth of his upper jaw — superb teeth, indeed! «Presently,”
said he: "I am occupied. ” He understood only Greek, and Mrs.
Simons knew only English; but the physiognomy of the King was
so speaking that the good lady comprehended easily without the
aid of an interpreter.
Selections from «The King of the Mountains) used by permission of
J. E. Tilton and Company
THE VICTIM
L*
From "The Man with the Broken Ear): by permission of Henry Holt, the
Translator
ÉON took his bunch of keys and opened the long oak box on
which he had been seated. The lid being raised, they saw
a great leaden casket which inclosed a magnificent walnut
box carefully polished on the outside, lined on the inside with
white silk, and padded.
The others brought their lamps and candles near, and the
colonel of the Twenty-third of the line appeared as if he were in
a chapel illuminated for his lying in state.
One would have said that the man was asleep. The perfect
preservation of the body attested the paternal care of the mur-
derer. It was truly a remarkable preparation, and would have
borne comparison with the finest European mummies described by
Vicq d'Azyr in 1779, and by the younger Puymaurin in 1787. The
part best preserved, as is always the case, was the face. A11 the
features had maintained a proud and manly expression. If any
old friend of the colonel had been at the opening of the third
box, he would have recognized him at first sight. Undoubtedly
the point of the nose was a little sharper, the nostrils less ex-
panded and thinner, and the bridge a little more marked, than in
the year 1813. The eyelids were thinned, the lips pinched, the
corners of the mouth drawn down, the cheek bones too promi-
nent, and the neck visibly shrunken, which exaggerated the prom-
inence of the chin and larynx. But the eyelids were closed with-
out contraction, and the sockets much less hollow than one could
have expected; the mouth was not at all distorted, like the mouth


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EDMOND ABOUT
43
of a corpse; the skin was slightly wrinkled, but had not changed
color, - it had only become a little more transparent, showing
after a fashion the color of the tendons, the fat, and the muscles,
wherever it rested directly upon them. It also had a rosy tint
which is not ordinarily seen in embalmed corpses. Dr. Martout
explained this anomaly by saying that if the colonel had actually
been dried alive, the globules of the blood were not decomposed,
but simply collected in the capillary vessels of the skin and sub-
jacent tissues, where they still preserved their proper color, and
could be seen more easily than otherwise on account of the semi-
transparency of the skin.
The uniform had become much too large, as may be readily
understood, though it did not seem at a casual glance that the
members had become deformed. The hands were dry and angu-
lar, but the nails, although a little bent inward toward the root,
had preserved all their freshness. The only very noticeable
change was the excessive depression of the abdominal walls, which
seemed crowded downward to the posterior side; at the right, a
slight elevation indicated the place of the liver. A tap of the
finger on the various parts of the body produced a sound like
that from dry leather. While Léon was pointing out these details
to his audience and doing the honors of his mummy, he awk-
wardly broke off the lower part of the right ear, and a little
piece of the colonel remained in his hand. This trifling accident
might have passed unnoticed had not Clémentine, who followed
with visible emotion all the movements of her lover, dropped her
candle and uttered a cry of affright. All gathered around her.
Léon took her in his arms and carried her to a chair. M. Re-
nault ran after salts. She was as pale as death, and seemed on
the point of fainting. She soon recovered, however, and reas-
sured them all by a charming smile.