No More Learning

There was another heavy sound,
A hush and then a groan;
And darkness swept across the sky-
The work of death was done!
THE BROKEN PITCHER
From the Bon Gaultier Ballads'
T WAS a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well,
And what that maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot tell,
When by there rode a valiant knight, from the town of
Oviedo -
Alphonso Guzman was he hight, the Count of Desparedo.
"O maiden, Moorish maiden! why sitt'st thou by the spring?
Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing?
Why gazest thou upon me, with eyes so large and wide,
And wherefore doth the pitcher lie broken by thy side? »
"I do not seek a lover, thou Christian knight so gay,
Because an article like that hath never come my way;
But why I gaze upon you, I cannot, cannot tell,
Except that in your iron hose you look uncommon swell.
"My pitcher it is broken, and this the reason is-
A shepherd came behind me, and tried to snatch a kiss;
I would not stand his nonsense, so ne'er a word I spoke,
But scored him on the costard, and so the jug was broke.
"My uncle, the Alcaydè, he waits for me at home,
And will not take his tumbler until Zorayda come.
I cannot bring him water, the pitcher is in pieces;
And so I'm sure to catch it, 'cos he wallops all his nieces.
-
1123
༥
"O maiden, Moorish maiden! wilt thou be ruled by me?
So wipe thine eyes and rosy lips, and give me kisses three;
And I'll give thee my helmet, thou kind and courteous lady,
To carry home the water to thy uncle, the Alcaydè. "
He lighted down from off his steed- he tied him to a tree-
He bowed him to the maiden, and took his kisses three:
"To wrong thee, sweet Zorayda, I swear would be a sin! »
He knelt him at the fountain, and dipped his helmet in.
―――


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WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN
1124
Up rose the Moorish maiden - behind the knight she steals,
And caught Alphonso Guzman up tightly by the heels;
She tipped him in, and held him down beneath the bubbling
water,
"Now, take thou that for venturing to kiss Al Hamet's daugh-
ter! »
A Christian maid is weeping in the town of Oviedo;
She waits the coming of her love, the Count of Desparedo.
I pray you all in charity, that you will never tell
How he met the Moorish maiden beside the lonely well.
SONNET TO BRITAIN
"BY THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON»
H
ALT! Shoulder arms! Recover! As you were!
Right wheel! Eyes left! Attention! Stand at
ease!
O Britain! O my country! Words like these
Have made thy name a terror and a fear
To all the nations. Witness Ebro's banks,
Assaye, Toulouse, Nivelle, and Waterloo,
Where the grim despot muttered, Sauve qui peut!
And Ney fled darkling. —Silence in the ranks!
Inspired by these, amidst the iron crash
Of armies, in the centre of his troop
The soldier stands - unmovable, not rash
Until the forces of the foemen droop;
Then knocks the Frenchmen to eternal smash,
Pounding them into mummy. Shoulder, hoop!
A BALL IN THE UPPER CIRCLES
From The Modern Endymion >
'TWAS
WAS a hot season in the skies. Sirius held the ascendant,
and under his influence even the radiant band of the
Celestials began to droop, while the great ball-room of
Olympus grew gradually more and more deserted.
For nearly
a week had Orpheus, the leader of the heavenly orchestra, played
to a deserted floor. The elite would no longer figure in the
waltz. Juno obstinately kept her room, complaining of headache


## p. 1125 (#551) ###########################################

WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN
1125
and ill-temper. Ceres, who had lately joined a dissenting con-
gregation, objected generally to all frivolous amusements; and
Minerva had established, in opposition, a series of literary soirées,
at which Pluto nightly lectured on the fine arts and phrenology,
to a brilliant and fashionable audience. The Muses, with Hebe
and some of the younger deities, alone frequented the assem-
blies; but with all their attractions there was still a sad lack of
partners. The younger gods had of late become remarkably dis-
sipated, messed three times a week at least with Mars in the
barracks, and seldom separated sober. Bacchus had been sent
to Coventry by the ladies, for appearing one night in the ball-
room, after a hard sederunt, so drunk that he measured his
length upon the floor after a vain attempt at a mazurka; and
they likewise eschewed the company of Pan, who had become
an abandoned smoker, and always smelt infamously of cheroots.
But the most serious defection, as also the most unaccountable,
was that of the beautiful Diana, par excellence the belle of the
season, and assuredly the most graceful nymph that ever tripped.
along the halls of heaven. She had gone off suddenly to the
country, without alleging any intelligible excuse, and with her
the last attraction of the ball-room seemed to have disappeared.
Even Venus, the perpetual lady patroness, saw that the affair
was desperate.
"Ganymede, mon beau garcon," said she, one evening at an
unusually thin assembly, "we must really give it up at last.
Matters are growing worse and worse, and in another week we
shall positively not have enough to get up a tolerable gallopade.
Look at these seven poor Muses sitting together on the sofa.
Not a soul has spoken to them to-night, except that horrid
Silenus, who dances nothing but Scotch reels. "
eye.
"Pardieu! " replied the young Trojan, fixing his glass in his
"There may be a reason for that. The girls are decidedly
passées, and most inveterate blues. But there's dear little Hebe,
who never wants partners, though that clumsy Hercules insists
upon his conjugal rights, and keeps moving after her like an
enormous shadow. 'Pon my soul, I've a great mind- Do
you think, ma belle tante, that anything might be done in that
quarter? "
"Oh fie, Ganymede-fie for shame! " said Flora, who was sit-
ting close to the Queen of Love, and overheard the conversation.
"You horrid, naughty man, how can you talk so? "


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1126
WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN
"Pardon, ma chère! " replied the exquisite with a languid
smile. "You must excuse my badinage; and indeed, a glance of
your fair eyes were enough at any time to recall me to my
senses. By the way, what a beautiful bouquet you have there.
Parole d'honneur, I am quite jealous. May I ask who sent it? "
«< What a goose you are! " said Flora, in evident confusion:
"how should I know? Some general admirer like yourself, I
suppose.
"Apollo is remarkably fond of hyacinths, I believe," said
Ganymede, looking significantly at Venus. "Ah, well! I see how
it is. We poor detrimentals must break our hearts in silence.
It is clear we have no chance with the preux chevalier of
heaven. "
"Really, Ganymede, you are very severe this evening," said
Venus with a smile; "but tell me, have you heard anything of
Diana ? »
"Ah! la belle Diane? They say she is living in the country
somewhere about Caria, at a place they call Latmos Cottage, cul-
tivating her faded roses- what a color Hebe has! -and studying
the sentimental. "
"Tant pis! She is a great loss to us," said Venus.
« Apropos,
you will be at Neptune's fête champêtre to-morrow, n'est ce pas?
We shall then finally determine about abandoning the assemblies.
But I must go home now. The carriage has been waiting this
hour, and my doves may catch cold. I suppose that boy Cupid
will not be home till all hours of the morning. "
"Why, I believe the Rainbow Club does meet to-night, after
the dancing," said Ganymede significantly. "This is the last
oyster-night of the season. "
"Gracious goodness! The boy will be quite tipsy," said
Venus. "Do, dear Ganymede! try to keep him sober.
But now.
give me your arm to the cloak-room. "
"Volontiers! " said the exquisite.
As Venus rose to go, there was a rush of persons to the
further end of the room, and the music ceased. Presently, two
or three voices were heard calling for Esculapius.
"What's the row? " asked that learned individual, advancing
leisurely from the refreshment table, where he had been cram-
ming himself with tea and cakes.
"Leda's fainted! " shrieked Calliope, who rushed past with her
vinaigrette in hand.


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WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN
1127
"Gammon! " growled the Abernethy of heaven, as he fol-
lowed her.
"Poor Leda! " said Venus, as her cavalier adjusted her shawl.
"These fainting fits are decidedly alarming. I hope it is nothing
more serious than the weather. "
"I hope so, too," said Ganymede. "Let me put on the
scarf. But people will talk. Pray heaven it be not a second
edition of that old scandal about the eggs! "
How can you? But after
There now, have done.
"Fi donc ! You odious creature!
all, stranger things have happened.
Good-night! " and she stepped into her chariot.
"Bon soir," said the exquisite, kissing his hand as it rolled
away. Pon my soul, that's a splendid woman.
I've a great
but there's no hurry about that.
mind-
Revenons à nos œufs.
I must learn something more about this fainting fit. " So saying,
Ganymede re-ascended the stairs.
«<
-
A HIGHLAND TRAMP
From Norman Sinclair'
W
HEN summer came- for in Scotland, alas! there is no
spring, winter rolling itself remorselessly, like a huge
polar bear, over what should be the beds of the early
flowers, and crushing them ere they develop-when summer
came, and the trees put on their pale-green liveries, and the
brakes were blue with the wood-hyacinth, and the ferns unfolded.
their curl, what ecstasy it was to steal an occasional holiday, and
wander, rod in hand, by some quiet stream up in the moorlands,
inhaling health from every breeze, nor seeking shelter from the
gentle shower as it dropped its manna from the heavens! And
then the long holidays, when the town was utterly deserted—
how I enjoyed these, as they can only be enjoyed by the possess-
ors of the double talisman of strength and youth! No more
no more trouble - no more task-work no thought even
of the graver themes suggested by my later studies! Look —
standing on the Calton Hill, behold yon blue range of mountains
to the west-cannot you name each pinnacle from its form?
Benledi, Benvoirlich, Benlomond! Oh, the beautiful land, the
elysium that lies round the base of those distant giants! The
forest of Glenfinlas, Loch Achray with its weeping birches, the
grand defiles of the Trosachs, and Ellen's Isle, the pearl of the
care


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1128
WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN
one lake that genius has forever hallowed! Up, sluggard! Place
your knapsack on your back; but stow it not with unnecessary
gear, for you have still further to go, and your rod also must be
your companion, if you mean to penetrate the region beyond.
Money? Little money suffices him who travels on foot, who can
bring his own fare to the shepherd's bothy where he is to sleep,
and who sleeps there better and sounder than the tourist who
rolls from station to station in his barouche, grumbling because
the hotels are overcrowded, and miserable about the airing of
his sheets. Money? You would laugh if you heard me mention
the sum which has sufficed for my expenditure during a long
summer month; for the pedestrian, humble though he be, has
his own especial privileges, and not the least of these is that he
is exempted from all extortion. Donald-God bless him. -- has
a knack of putting on the prices; and when an English family
comes posting up to the door of his inn, clamorously demanding
every sort of accommodation which a metropolitan hotel could
afford, grumbling at the lack of attendance, sneering at the
quality of the food, and turning the whole establishment upside
down for their own selfish gratification, he not unreasonably
determines that the extra trouble shall be paid for in that gold
which rarely crosses his fingers except during the short season
when tourists and sportsmen abound. But Donald, who is de-
scended from the M'Gregor, does not make spoil of the poor.
The sketcher or the angler who come to his door, with the sweat
upon their brow and the dust of the highway or the pollen of the
heather on their feet, meet with a hearty welcome; and though
the room in which their meals are served is but low in the roof,
and the floor strewn with sand, and the attic wherein they lie is
garnished with two beds and a shake-down, yet are the viands.
wholesome, the sheets clean, and the tariff so undeniably mod-
erate that even parsimony cannot complain. So up in the
morning early, so soon as the first beams of the sun slant into
the chamber-down to the loch or river, and with a headlong
plunge scrape acquaintance with the pebbles at the bottom; then
rising with a hearty gasp, strike out for the islet or the further
bank, to the astonishment of the otter, who, thief that he is, is
skulking back to his hole below the old saugh-tree, from a mid-
night foray up the burns. Huzza! The mallard, dozing among
the reeds, has taken fright, and tucking up his legs under his
round fat rump, flies quacking to a remoter marsh.


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MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1129
"By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes,"
and lo! Dugald the keeper, on his way to the hill, is arrested
by the aquatic phenomenon, and half believes that he is witness-
ing the frolics of an Urisk! Then make your toilet on the green-
sward, swing your knapsack over your shoulders, and cover ten
good miles of road before you halt before breakfast with more
than the appetite of an ogre.
In this way I made the circuit of well-nigh the whole of the
Scottish Highlands, penetrating as far as Cape Wrath and the
wild district of Edderachylis, nor leaving unvisited the grand
scenery of Loch Corruisk, and the stormy peaks of Skye; and
more than one delightful week did I spend each summer, explor-
ing Gameshope, or the Linns of Talla, where the Covenanters
of old held their gathering; or clambering up the steep ascent
by the Grey Mare's Tail to lonely and lovely Loch Skene, or
casting for trout in the silver waters of St. Mary's.
MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
(1798-1866)
M
ASSIMO TAPARELLI, Marquis d'Azeglio, like his greater col-
league and sometime rival in the Sardinian Ministry,
Cavour, wielded a graceful and forcible pen, and might
have won no slight distinction in the peaceful paths of literature and
art as well, had he not been before everything else a patriot. Of
ancient and noble Piedmontese stock, he was born at Turin in Octo-
ber, 1798. In his fifteenth year the youth accompanied his father to
Rome, where the latter had been appointed ambassador, and thus
early he was inspired with the passion for painting and music which
never left him. In accordance with the paternal wish he entered on
a military career, but soon abandoned the service to devote himself
to art. But after a residence of eight years (1821-29) in the papal
capital, having acquired both skill and fame as a landscape painter,
D'Azeglio began to direct his thoughts to letters and politics.
After the death of his father in 1830 he settled in Milan, where
he formed the acquaintance of the poet and novelist Alessandro Man-
zoni, whose daughter he married, and under whose influence he
became deeply interested in literature, especially in its relation to
the political events of those stirring times. The agitation against
Austrian domination was especially marked in the north of Italy,


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1130
MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
where Manzoni had made himself prominent; and so it came to pass
that Massimo d'Azeglio plunged into literature with the ardent hope
of stimulating the national sense of independence and unity.
In 1833 he published, not without misgivings, Ettore Fiera-
mosca,' his first romance, in which he aimed to teach Italians how
to fight for national honor. The work achieved an immediate and
splendid success, and unquestionably served as a powerful aid to the
awakening of Italy's ancient patriotism. It was followed in 1841 by
'Nicolo de' Lapi,' a story conceived in similar vein, with somewhat
greater pretensions to literary finish. D'Azeglio now became known
as one of the foremost representatives of the moderate party, and
exerted the potent influence of his voice as well as of his pen in dif-
fusing liberal propaganda. In 1846 he published the bold pamphlet
'Gli ultimi Casi di Romagna' (On the Recent Events in Romagna),
in which he showed the danger and utter futility of ill-advised
republican outbreaks, and the paramount necessity of adopting there-
after a wiser and more practical policy to gain the great end desired.
Numerous trenchant political articles issued from his pen during the
next two years. The year 1849 found him a member of the first
Sardinian parliament, and in March of that year Victor Emmanuel
called him to the presidency of the Council with the portfolio of
Foreign Affairs. Obliged to give way three years later before the
rising genius of Cavour, he served his country with distinction on
several important diplomatic missions after the peace of Villafranca,
and died in his native city on the 15th of January, 1866.
In 1867 appeared D'Azeglio's autobiography, 'I Miei Ricordi,'
translated into English by Count Maffei under title of 'My Recol-
lections, which is undeniably the most interesting and thoroughly
delightful product of his pen. "He was a character,'»
(
said an
English critic at the time: "a man of whims and oddities, of hobbies
and crotchets. . . . This character of individuality, which impressed
its stamp on his whole life, is charmingly revealed in every sentence
of the memoirs which he has left behind him; so that, more than
any of his previous writings, their mingled homeliness and wit and
wisdom justify the epithet which I once before ventured to give
him when I described him as 'the Giusti of Italian prose. > >>
As a
polemic writer D'Azeglio was recognized as one of the chief forces
in molding public opinion. If he had not been both patriot and
statesman, this versatile genius, as before intimated, would not
improbably have gained an enviable reputation in the realm of art;
and although his few novels are-perhaps with justice-no longer
remembered, they deeply stirred the hearts of his countrymen in
their day, and to say the least are characterized by good sense,
facility of execution, and a refined imaginative power.


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MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1131
A HAPPY CHILDHOOD
From My Recollections >
THE
HE distribution of our daily occupations was strictly laid down
for Matilde and me in black and white, and these rules
were not to be broken with impunity. We were thus
accustomed to habits of order, and never to make anybody wait
for our convenience; a fault which is one of the most trouble-
some that can be committed either by great people or small.
I remember one day that Matilde, having gone out with
Teresa, came home when we had been at dinner some time. It
was winter, and snow was falling. The two culprits sat down a
little confused, and their soup was brought them in two plates,
which had been kept hot; but can you guess where? On the
balcony; so that the contents were not only below freezing-point,
but actually had a thick covering of snow!
At dinner, of course my sister and I sat perfectly silent, wait-
ing our turn, without right of petition or remonstrance. As to
the other proprieties of behavior, such as neatness, and not being
noisy or boisterous, we knew well that the slightest infraction
would have entailed banishment for the rest of the day at least.
Our great anxiety was to eclipse ourselves as much as possible;
and I assure you that under this system we never fancied our-
selves the central points of importance round which all the rest
of the world was to revolve, an idea which, thanks to absurd
indulgence and flattery, is often forcibly thrust, I may say, into
poor little brains, which if left to themselves would never have
lost their natural simplicity.
The lessons of 'Galateo' were not enforced at dinner only.
Even at other times we were forbidden to raise our voices or
interrupt the conversation of our elders, still more to quarrel
with each other. If sometimes as we went to dinner I rushed
forward before Matilde, my father would take me by the arm
and make me come last, saying, "There is no need to be uncivil
because she is your sister. " The old generation in many parts
of Italy have the habit of shouting and raising their voices as if
their interlocutor were deaf, interrupting him as if he had no
right to speak, and poking him in the ribs and otherwise, as if
he could only be convinced by sensations of bodily pain. The
regulations observed in my family were therefore by no means


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MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1132
superfluous; and would to Heaven they were universally adopted
as the law of the land!
On another occasion my excellent mother gave me a lesson of
humility, which I shall never forget any more than the place
where I received it.
In the open part of the Cascine, which was once used as a
race-course, to the right of the space where the carriages stand,
there is a walk alongside the wood. I was walking there one
day with my mother, followed by an old servant, a countryman
of Pylades; less heroic than the latter, but a very good fellow
too. I forget why, but I raised a little cane I had in my hand,
and I am afraid I struck him. My mother, before all the pass-
ers-by, obliged me to kneel down and beg his pardon.
I can
still see poor Giacolin taking off his hat with a face of utter
bewilderment, quite unable to comprehend how it was that the
Chevalier Massimo Taparelli d'Azeglio came to be at his feet.
An indifference to bodily pain was another of the precepts
most carefully instilled by our father; and as usual, the lesson
was made more impressive by example whenever an opportunity
presented itself. If, for instance, we complained of any slight
pain or accident, our father used to say, half in fun, half in
earnest, "When a Piedmontese has both his arms and legs
broken, and has received two sword-thrusts in the body, he may
be allowed to say, but not till then, 'Really, I almost think I am
not quite well. '»
The moral authority he had acquired over me was so great
that in no case would I have disobeyed him, even had he ordered
me to jump out of window.
I recollect that when my first tooth was drawn, I was in an
agony of fright as we went to the dentist; but outwardly I was
brave enough, and tried to seem as indifferent as possible. On
another occasion my childish courage and also my father's firm-
ness were put to a more serious test. He had hired a house
called the Villa Billi, which stands about half a mile from San
Domenico di Fiesole, on the right winding up toward the hill.
Only two years ago I visited the place, and found the same
family of peasants still there, and my two old playmates, Nando
and Sandro, who had both become even greater fogies than
myself, and we had a hearty chat together about bygone times.
Whilst living at this villa, our father was accustomed to
take us out for long walks, which were the subject of special
-


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MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1133
regulations. We were strictly forbidden to ask, "Have we far
to go? " "What time is it? " or to say, "I am thirsty; I am
hungry; I am tired:" but in everything else we had full liberty.
of speech and action. Returning from one of these excursions,
we one day found ourselves below Castel di Poggio, a rugged
stony path leading towards Vincigliata. In one hand I had a
nosegay of wild flowers, gathered by the way, and in the other
a stick, when I happened to stumble, and fell awkwardly. My
father sprang forward to pick me up, and seeing that one arm
pained me, he examined it and found that in fact the bone was
broken below the elbow. All this time my eyes were fixed upon
him, and I could see his countenance change, and assume such
an expression of tenderness and anxiety that he no longer ap-
peared to be the same man. He bound up my arm as well as
he could, and we then continued our way homewards.
After a
few moments, during which my father had resumed his usual
calmness, he said to me:
――
―
"Listen, Mammolino: your mother is not well. If she knows
you are hurt it will make her worse. You must be brave, my
boy: to-morrow morning we will go to Florence, where all that
is needful can be done for you; but this evening you must not
show you are in pair. Do you understand ? »
All this was said with his usual firmness and authority, but
also with the greatest affection. I was only too glad to have so
important and difficult a task intrusted to me. The whole even-
ing sat quietly in a corner, supporting my poor little broken
arm as best I could, and my mother only thought me tired by
the long walk, and had no suspicion of the truth.
The next day I was taken to Florence, and my arm was set;
but to complete the cure I had to be sent to the Baths of Vina-
dio a few years afterward. Some people may, in this instance,
think my father was cruel. I remember the fact as if it were
but yesterday, and I am sure such an idea never for one minute
entered my mind. The expression of ineffable tenderness which
I had read in his eyes had so delighted me, it seemed so reason-
able to avoid alarming my mother, that I looked on the hard
task allotted me as a fine opportunity of displaying my courage.
I did so because I had not been spoilt, and good principles had
been early implanted within me: and now that I am an old man
and have known the world, I bless the severity of my father;
and I could wish every Italian child might have one like him,


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1134
MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
and derive more profit than I did,—in thirty years' time Italy
would then be the first of nations.
Moreover, it is a fact that children are much more observant
than is commonly supposed, and never regard as hostile a just
but affectionate severity. I have always seen them disposed to
prefer persons who keep them in order to those who constantly
yield to their caprices; and soldiers are just the same in this
respect.
The following is another example to prove that my father did
not deserve to be called cruel:-
He thought it a bad practice to awaken children suddenly, or
to let their sleep be abruptly disturbed. If we had to rise early
for a journey, he would come to my bedside and softly hum a
popular song, two lines of which still ring in my ears:
"Chi vuol veder l'aurora
Lasci le molli piume. "
(He who the early dawn would view
Downy pillows must eschew. )
And by gradually raising his voice, he awoke me without the
slightest start. In truth, with all his severity, Heaven knows
how I loved him.
THE PRIESTHOOD
From My Recollections >
Μ'
Y OCCUPATIONS in Rome were not entirely confined to the
domains of poetry and imagination. It must not be for-
gotten that I was also a diplomatist; and in that capacity
I had social as well as official duties to perform.
The Holy Alliance had accepted the confession and repentance
of Murat, and had granted him absolution; but as the new con-
vert inspired little confidence, he was closely watched, in the
expectation — and perhaps the hope-of an opportunity of crown-
ing the work by the infliction of penance.
-
The penance intended was to deprive him of his crown and
sceptre, and to turn him out of the pale. Like all the other
diplomatists resident in Rome, we kept our court well informed
of all that could be known or surmised regarding the intentions
of the Neapolitan government; and I had the lively occupation of
copying page after page of incomprehensible cipher for the new-


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MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1135
born archives of our legation.
Such was my life at that time;
and in spite of the cipher, I soon found it pleasant enough.
Dinner-parties, balls, routs, and fashionable society did not then
inspire me with the holy horror which now keeps me away from
them. Having never before experienced or enjoyed anything of
the kind, I was satisfied. But in the midst of my pleasure, our
successor Marquis San Saturnino-made his appearance, and
we had to prepare for our departure. One consolation, however,
remained. I had just then been appointed to the high rank of
cornet in the crack dragoon regiment "Royal Piedmont. " I had
never seen its uniform, but I cherished a vague hope of being
destined by Fortune to wear a helmet; and the prospect of real-
izing this splendid dream of my infancy prevented me from
regretting my Roman acquaintances overmuch.
The Society of Jesus had meanwhile been restored, and my
brother was on the eve of taking the vows. He availed himself
of the last days left him before that ceremony to sit for his
portrait to the painter Landi. This is one of that artist's best
works, who, poor man, cannot boast of many; and it now belongs
to my nephew Emanuel.
-
The day of the ceremony at length arrived, and I accom-
panied my brother to the Convent of Monte Cavallo, where it
was to take place.
The Jesuits at that time were all greatly rejoicing at the
revival of their order; and as may be inferred, they were mostly
old men, with only a few young novices among them.
We entered an oratory fragrant with the flowers adorning
the altar, full of silver ornaments, holy images, and burning
wax-lights, with half-closed windows and carefully drawn blinds;
for it is a certain, although unexplained, fact that men are more
devout in the dark than in the light, at night than in the day-
time, and with their eyes closed rather than open.
We were
received by the General of the order, Father Panizzoni, a little
old man bent double with age, his eyes encircled with red, half
blind, and I believe almost in his dotage. He was shedding tears
of joy, and we all maintained the pious and serious aspect suited
to the occasion, until the time arrived for the novice to step for-
ward, when, lo! Father Panizzoni advanced with open arms
toward the place where I stood, mistaking me for my brother;
a blunder which for a moment imperiled the solemnity of the
assembly.


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1136
MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
Had I yielded to the embrace of Father Panizzoni, it would
have been a wonderful bargain both for him and me. But this
was not the only invitation I then received to enter upon a sacer-
dotal career. Monsignor Morozzo, my great-uncle and god-father,
then secretary to the bishops and regular monks, one day pro-
posed that I should enter the Ecclesiastical Academy, and follow
the career of the prelacy under his patronage. The idea seemed
so absurd that I could not help laughing heartily, and the sub-
ject was never revived.
Had I accepted these overtures, I might in the lapse of time
have long since been a cardinal, and perhaps even Pope. And
if so, I should have drawn the world after me, as the shepherd
entices a lamb with a lump of salt. It was very wrong in me to
refuse. Doubtless the habit of expressing my opinion to every
one, and on all occasions, would have led me into many difficult-
ies. I must either have greatly changed, or a very few years
would have seen an end of me.
We left Rome at last, in the middle of winter, in an open
carriage, and traveling chiefly by night, as was my father's habit.
While the horses are trotting on, I will sum up the impressions
of Rome and the Roman world which I was carrying away. The
clearest idea present to my mind was that the priests of Rome
and their religion had very little in common with my father and
Don Andreis, or with the religion professed by them and by the
priests and the devout laity of Turin. I had not been able to
detect the slightest trace of that which in the language of asceti-
cism is called unction. I know not why, but that grave and
downcast aspect, enlivened only by a few occasional flashes of
ponderous clerical wit, the atmosphere depressing as the plumbeus
auster of Horace, in which I had been brought up under the rule
of my priest,- all seemed unknown at Rome. There I never
met with a monsignore or a priest who did not step out with a
pert and jaunty air, his head erect, showing off a well-made leg,
and daintily attired in the garb of a clerical dandy.
Their con-
versation turned upon every possible subject, and sometimes upon
quibusdam aliis, to such a degree that it was evident my father
was perpetually on thorns. I remember a certain prelate, whom
I will not name, and whose conduct was, I believe, sufficiently
free and easy, who at a dinner-party at a villa near Porta Pia
related laughingly some matrimonial anecdotes, which I at that
time did not fully understand. And I remember also my poor


## p. 1137 (#563) ###########################################

MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1137
father's manifest distress, and his strenuous endeavors to change
the conversation and direct it into a different channel.
The prelates and priests whom I used to meet in less orthodox
companies than those frequented by my father seemed to me still
more free and easy. Either in the present or in the past, in
theory or in practice, with more or less or even no concealment,
they all alike were sailing or had sailed on the sweet fleuve du
tendre. For instance, I met one old canon bound to a venerable
dame by a tie of many years' standing. I also met a young prel-
ate with a pink-and-white complexion and eyes expressive of
anything but holiness; he was a desperate votary of the fair sex,
and swaggered about paying his homage right and left. Will it
be believed, this gay apostle actually told me, without circum-
locution, that in the monastery of Tor di Specchi there dwelt a
young lady who was in love with me? I, who of course desired
no better, took the hint instantly, and had her pointed out to me.
Then began an interchange of silly messages, of languishing
looks, and a hundred absurdities of the same kind; all cut short
by the pair of post-horses which carried us out of the Porta del
Popolo.
The opinions of my father respecting the clergy and the Court
of Rome were certainly narrow and prejudiced; but with his good
sense it was impossible for him not to perceive what was mani-
fest even to a blind man. During our journey he kept insinuat-
ing (without appearing, however, to attach much importance to
it) that it was always advisable to speak with proper respect of a
country where we had been well received, even if we had noticed
a great many abuses and disorders. To a certain extent, this
counsel was well worthy of attention. He was doubtless much
grieved at the want of decency apparent in one section of that
society, or, to use a modern expression, at its absence of respect-
ability; but he consoled himself by thinking, like Abraham the
Jew in the Decameron,' that no better proof can be given of
the truth of the religion professed by Rome than the fact of its
enduring in such hands.
This reasoning, however, is not quite conclusive; for if Boc-
caccio had had patience to wait another forty years, he would
have learnt, first from John Huss, and then from Luther and his
followers, that although in certain hands things may last a while,
it is only till they are worn out. What Boccaccio and the Jew
would say now if they came back, I do not venture to surmise.
II-72


## p. 1138 (#564) ###########################################

1138
MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
MY FIRST VENTURE IN ROMANCE
From My Recollections >
W
HILE striving to acquire a good artistic position in my new
residence, I had still continued to work at my 'Fiera-
mosca,' which was now almost completed. Letters were
at that time represented at Milan by Manzoni, Grossi, Torti,
Pompeo Litta, etc. The memories of the period of Monti,
Parini, Foscolo, Porta, Pellico, Verri, Beccaria, were still fresh;
and however much the living literary and scientific men might
be inclined to lead a secluded life, intrenched in their own
houses, with the shyness of people who disliked much inter-
course with the world, yet by a little tact those who wished for
their company could overcome their reserve. As Manzoni's son-
in-law, I found myself naturally brought into contact with them.
I knew them all; but Grossi and I became particularly intimate,
and our close and uninterrupted friendship lasted until the day
of his but too premature death. I longed to show my work to
him, and especially to Manzoni, and ask their advice; but fear
this time, not artistic but literary, had again caught hold of me.
Still, a resolve was necessary, and was taken at last. I disclosed
my secret, imploring forbearance and advice, but no indulgence.
I wanted the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
I preferred the blame of a couple of trusted friends to that of
the public. Both seemed to have expected something a great
deal worse than what they heard, to judge by their startled but
also approving countenances, when my novel was read to them.
Manzoni remarked with a smile, "We literary men have a
strange profession indeed- any one can take it up in a day.
Here is Massimo: the whim of writing a novel seizes him, and
upon my word he does not do badly, after all! »
This high approbation inspired me with leonine courage, and
I set to work again in earnest, so that in 1833 the work was
ready for publication. On thinking it over now, it strikes me
that I was guilty of great impertinence in thus bringing out
and publishing with undaunted assurance my little novel among
all those literary big-wigs; I who had never done or written
anything before. But it was successful; and this is an answer
to every objection.


## p. 1139 (#565) ###########################################

MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
1139
The day I carried my bundle of manuscript to San Pietro all'
Orto, and, as Berni expresses it, -
-
<< ritrovato
Un che di stampar opere lavora,
Dissi, Stampami questa alla malora! »
(-having
Discovered one, a publisher by trade,
'Print me this book, bad luck to it! ' I said,)
I was in a still greater funk than on the two previous occasions.
But I had yet to experience the worst I ever felt in the whole
course of my life, and that was on the day of publication; when
I went out in the morning, and read my illustrious name pla-
carded in large letters on the street walls! I felt blinded by a
thousand sparks. Now indeed alea jacta erat, and my fleet was
burnt to ashes.
This great fear of the public may, with good-will, be taken
for modesty; but I hold that at bottom it is downright vanity.
Of course I am speaking of people endowed with a sufficient
dose of talent and common-sense; with fools, on the contrary,
vanity takes the shape of impudent self-confidence. Hence all
the daily published amount of nonsense; which would convey a
strange idea of us to Europe, if it were not our good fortune
that Italian is not much understood abroad. As regards our
internal affairs, the two excesses are almost equally noxious.
In Parliament, for instance, the first, those of the timidly vain
genus, might give their opinion a little oftener with general
advantage; while if the others, the impudently vain, were not
always brawling, discussions would be more brief and rational,
and public business better and more quickly dispatched. The
same reflection applies to other branches-to journalism, litera-
ture, society, etc. ; for vanity is the bad weed which chokes up
our political field; and as it is a plant of hardy growth, bloom-
ing among us all the year round, it is just as well to be on our
guard.
Timid vanity was terribly at work within me the day 'Fiera-
mosca' was published. For the first twenty-four hours it was
impossible to learn anything; for even the most zealous require
at least a day to form some idea of a book. Next morning, on
first going out, I encountered a friend of mine, a young fellow
then and now a man of mature age, who has never had a sus-


## p. 1140 (#566) ###########################################

1140
MASSIMO TAPARELLI D'AZEGLIO
picion of the cruel blow he unconsciously dealt me. I met him
in Piazza San Fedele, where I lived; and after a few words, he
said, "By the by, I hear you have published a novel. Well
done! " and then talked away about something quite different
with the utmost heedlessness. Not a drop of blood was left in
my veins, and I said to myself, "Mercy on me! I am done for:
not even a word is said about my poor 'Fieramosca! >» It
seemed incredible that he, who belonged to a very numerous
family, connected with the best society of the town, should have
heard nothing, if the slightest notice had been taken of it. As
he was besides an excellent fellow and a friend, it seemed
equally incredible that if a word had been said and heard, he
should not have repeated it to me. Therefore, it was a failure;
the worst of failures, that of silence. With a bitter feeling at
heart, I hardly knew where I went; but this feeling soon
changed, and the bitterness was superseded by quite an opposite
sensation.
'Fieramosca' succeeded, and succeeded so well that I felt
abasourdi, as the French express it; indeed, I could say "Je
n'aurais jamais cru être si fort savant. " My success went on in
an increasing ratio: it passed from the papers and from the
masculine half to the feminine half of society; it found its way
to the studios and the stage. I became the vade-mecum of every
prima-donna and tenor, the hidden treat of school-girls; I pene-
trated between the pillow and the mattress of college, boys, of
the military academy cadet; and my apotheosis reached such a
height that some newspapers asserted it to be Manzoni's work. It
is superfluous to add that only the ignorant could entertain such
an idea; those who were better informed would never have made
such a blunder.
My aim, as I said, was to take the initiative in the slow
work of the regeneration of national character. I had no wish
but to awaken high and noble sentiments in Italian hearts; and
if all the literary men in the world had assembled to condemn
me in virtue of strict rules, I should not have cared a jot, if, in
defiance of all existing rules, I succeeded in inflaming the heart
of one single individual. And I will also add, who can say that
what causes durable emotion is unorthodox? It may be at vari-
ance with some rules and in harmony with others; and those
which move hearts and captivate intellects do not appear to me
to be the worst.


## p. 1141 (#567) ###########################################

1141
.
BABER
(1482-1530)
BY EDWARD S. HOLDEN
HE emperor Baber was sixth in descent from Tamerlane, who
died in 1405.
Tamerlane's conquests were world-wide, but
they never formed a homogeneous empire. Even in his life-
time he parceled them out to sons and grandsons. Half a century
later Trans-oxiana was divided into many independent kingdoms each
governed by a descendant of the great conqueror.
When Baber was born (1482), an uncle was King of Samarkand
and Bokhara; another uncle ruled Badakhshan; another was King
of Kabul. A relative was the powerful King of Khorasan. These
princes were of the family of Tamerlane, as was Baber's father,-
Sultan Omer Sheikh Mirza,-who was the King of Ferghana. Two
of Baber's maternal uncles, descendants of Chengiz Khan, ruled the
Moghul tribes to the west and north of Ferghana; and two of their
sisters had married the Kings of Samarkand and Badakhshan.
third sister was Baber's mother, wife of the King of Ferghana.
The
The capitals of their countries were cities like Samarkand,
Bokhara, and Herat. Tamerlane's grandson-Ulugh Beg-built at
Samarkand the chief astronomical observatory of the world, a cen-
tury and a half before Tycho Brahe (1576) erected Uranibourg in Den-
mark. The town was filled with noble buildings,- mosques, tombs,
and colleges. Its walls were five miles in circumference. *
Its streets were paved (the streets of Paris were not paved till the
time of Henri IV. ), and running water was distributed in pipes. Its
markets overflowed with fruits. Its cooks and bakers were noted for
their skill. Its colleges were full of learned men, poets,† and doctors
of the law. The observatory counted more than a hundred observers
and calculators in its corps of astronomers. The products of China,
of India, and of Persia flowed to the bazaars.
Bokhara has always been the home of learning. Herat was at
that time the most magnificent and refined city of the world. ‡ The
court was splendid, polite, intelligent, and liberal. Poetry, history,
* Paris was walled in 1358; so Froissart tells us.
"In Samarkand, the Odes of Baiesanghar Mirza are so popular, that
there is not a house in which a copy of them may not be found. " — Baber's
'Memoirs. '
Baber spent twenty days in visiting its various palaces, towers, mosques,
gardens, colleges—and gives a list of more than fifty such sights.


## p. 1142 (#568) ###########################################

BABER
1142
philosophy, science, and the arts of painting and music were culti-
vated by noblemen and scholars alike. Baber himself was a poet of
no mean rank. The religion was that of Islam, and the sect the
orthodox Sunni; but the practice was less precise than in Arabia.
Wine was drunk; poetry was prized; artists were encouraged. The
mother-language of Baber was Turki (of which the Turkish of Con-
stantinople is a dialect). Arabic was the language of science and of
theology. Persian was the accepted literary language, though Baber's
verses are in Turki as well.
We possess Baber's 'Memoirs' in the original Turki and in Persian
translations also. In what follows, the extracts will be taken from
Erskine's translation,* which preserves their direct and manly charm.
To understand them, the foregoing slight introduction is necessary.
A connected sketch of Baber's life and a brief history of his conquests
can be found in 'The Mogul Emperors of Hindustan. ’†
We are
here more especially concerned with his literary work. To compre-
hend it, something of his history and surroundings must be known.
FROM BABER'S MEMOIRS›
IN
THE month of Ramzan, in the year 899 [A. D. 1494], and
in the twelfth year of my age, I became King of Ferghana.
The country of Ferghana is situated in the fifth climate, on
the extreme boundary of the habitable world. On the east it
has Kashgar; on the west, Samarkand; on the south, the hill
country; on the north, in former times there were cities, yet
at the present time, in consequence of the incursions of the
Usbeks, no population remains. Ferghana is a country of small
extent, abounding in grain and fruits. The revenues may suffice,
without oppressing the country, to maintain three or four thou-
sand troops.