No More Learning

From our desert (Coburg), June 27, 1530.
LETTER TO HIS WIFE
T
ΤΟ My dearly beloved wife Katharine Luther; for her own
hands.
God greet thee in Christ, my dearly loved Katie! I hope
if Doctor Brück receives leave of absence, as he gives me fair
hope of doing, that I can come with him to-morrow, or the day
after. Pray God that he bring me home safe and sound. I sleep
extremely well: about six or seven hours consecutively, and then
two or three hours afterward. That, as I take it, is due to the
beer.
But I am just as abstemious as at Wittenberg.
Doctor Caspar says that the caries under which our gracious


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9335
Elector suffers has eaten no further into the foot; but such mar-
tyrdom no Dobitzsch, no prisoner on the ladder of Jack the Jail-
er's tower, endures, as his Electoral Grace has to undergo from
the surgeons.
His Electoral Grace is as sound in his entire
body as a little fish, only the devil has bitten and stung him in
the foot. Pray, pray on! I hope God will hear us, as he has
begun to do.
For Doctor Caspar believes too that God must
help here.
As Johannes [Rischmann] goes away, necessity and fairness
alike demand that I let him depart honorably from me. For you
know he has served us faithfully and diligently, and according to
his ability has truly held to the Gospel in humility, and has done
and suffered everything. Wherefore think how often we have
given presents to worthless knaves and ungrateful scholars, where
it was simply thrown away. So in this case be liberal, and let
nothing be wanting to such a pious fellow; for you know it is
money well spent, and is well pleasing to God. know well
that there is but little in the purse; but I would willingly give
him ten gulden if I had it. Less than five gulden, however, you
must not pay him, for he has no clothing. Whatever you can
bestow above that, do, I beg of you. The parish coffer might,
it is true, honor me by giving something to such a man, seeing
that I must support my servants at my own expense, for their
church's service and use; but as they will. Do not you let any-
thing be lacking, so long as we still have a mug. Think where
you have gotten it. God will give other things, that I know.
Herewith I commend you to God. Amen.
And say to the parson from Zwickau that he should be con-
tent, and make the best of his lodging. When I come I will tell
how Mühlpford and I were guests at Riedesal's house, and Mühl-
pford exhibited much wisdom to me. But I was not thirsty for
such a drink. Kiss the young Hans for me; and bid little
Johnny and Lena and Aunt Lena pray for the dear Elector and
for me.
I cannot find anything in this city to buy for the child-
ren, although it is the time of the Fair. Since I can bring
nothing special, have something on hand for me to give.
Tuesday after Reminiscere [February 27th], 1532.


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EXTRACT FROM COMMENTARY ON PSALM CI.
"I will sing of mercy and judgment, and unto Thee, O Lord, will I sing
praises. "
HⓇ
E IMMEDIATELY at the outset gives instructions to the kings
and princes, that they should praise and thank God if they
have good order and devoted servants, at home or at
court; from these words they should learn and understand that such
things are a peculiar gift of God, and not due to their own wisdom
or capacity. This is the experience of the world. No matter how
common or unfitted one may be, he thinks if he had the rule
he would do everything excellently, nor does he take pleasure in
anything that others in authority may do; exactly as the servant
in the comedy of Terence says longingly, "Oh, I should have
been a king! " And as Absalom spoke secretly against David
his father to the people of Israel: "See, thy matters are good
and right; but there is no man deputed of the king to hear
thee. Oh that I were made judge in the land, that every man
which hath any suit or cause might come unto me, and I would
do him justice! "
These are the master wiseacres, who on account of their
superior wisdom can bridle the horse behind, and yet can really
do nothing more than judge and bully other folks; and if they
do get power into their hands, everything goes to pieces with
them, just as the proverb says: "He who watches the sport
knows best how to play. " For they imagine, if only they could get
the ball into their hands, how they would knock over twelve pins,
when there are really only nine on the square, until they learn
that there is a groove that runs alongside of the alley.
men do not praise and thank God; neither do they believe that
these are God's gifts, or that they should implore and call upon
God for such things. Instead they are presumptuous, and think
their understanding and wisdom so sure that nothing is wanting:
they wish to have the glory and renown of ruling and making
all things work beneficially for others, just as if the Good Man
(as our Lord God is called) should sit idly by, and not be present
when one desires to accomplish some beneficence. And indeed.
he does so, and looks through his fingers, and allows the children
of men audaciously to begin to build the Tower of Babel; after-
wards he comes right amongst them, scatters them, and destroys
everything, so that no one understands what the other says any


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9337
longer. And it serves them right, because they exclude God
from their counsel, and would be like God; they would be wise
enough in themselves, and so have the honor which belongs to
God alone. I have often, while in the cloister, seen and heard
wise and sensible people give counsel with such assurance and
brilliance that I thought it impossible for it to fail. "Ah! "
thought I, that has hands and feet,- that is certainly alive;"
and I believed it as surely as if all had really taken place, and
were stationed there before my eyes. But when one sought to
grasp it and bring it into play, then it retreated basely, and the
beautiful living counsel was even more worthless than a dream or
a shadow is; and one must say, "Well then, if that was a dream,
let the devil trust himself to such fine and beautiful counsels. "
How utterly is everything mere appearance and glitter,
wherein God does not participate!
[1534. ]
A HYMN FOR CHILDREN AT CHRISTMAS
The Child Jesus: Luke ii.
F'
ROM heaven to earth I come
To bear good news to every home;
Glad tidings of great joy I bring,
Whereof I now will say and sing:-
-
To you this night is born a child
Of Mary, chosen mother mild;
This little child, of lowly birth,
Shall be the joy of all your earth.
'Tis Christ, our God, who far on high
Hath heard your sad and bitter cry;
Himself will your salvation be,
Himself from sin will make you free.
He brings those blessings, long ago
Prepared by God for all below;
Henceforth his kingdom open stands
To you, as to the angel bands.
These are the tokens ye shall mark,
The swaddling-clothes and manger dark;


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There shall ye find the young child laid,
By whom the heavens and earth were made.
Now let us all with gladsome cheer
Follow the shepherds, and draw near
To see this wondrous gift of God,
Who hath his only Son bestowed.
Give heed, my heart, lift up thine eyes!
Who is it in yon manger lies?
Who is this child, so young and fair?
The blessed Christ-child lieth there.
Welcome to earth, thou noble guest,
Through whom e'en wicked men are blest!
Thou com'st to share our misery:
What can we render, Lord, to thee?
Ah, Lord, who hast created all,
How hast thou made thee weak and small,
That thou must choose thy infant bed
Where ass and ox but lately fed!
Were earth a thousand times as fair,
Beset with gold and jewels rare,
She yet were far too poor to be
A narrow cradle, Lord, for thee.
For velvets soft and silken stuff
Thou hast but hay and straw so rough,
Whereon thou, King, so rich and great,
As 'twere thy heaven, art throned in state.
Thus hath it pleased thee to make plain
The truth to us poor fools and vain,
That this world's honor, wealth, and might
Are naught and worthless in thy sight.
Ah! dearest Jesus, Holy Child,
Make thee a bed, soft, undefiled,
Within my heart, that it may be
A quiet chamber kept for thee.
My heart for very joy doth leap,
My lips no more can silence keep;
I too must raise with joyful tongue
That sweetest ancient cradle song.


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Glory to God in highest heaven,
Who unto man his Son hath given!
While angels sing with pious mirth
A glad New Year to all the earth.
9339
1535. Translated by Catharine Winkworth.
THE VALUE AND POWER OF MUSIC
M
USIC is one of the fairest and most glorious gifts of God.
To it Satan is exceedingly hostile. Thereby many temp-
tations and evil thoughts are driven away; the devil can-
not withstand it. Music is one of the best arts: the notes give
life to the text; it expels the spirit of sadness, as one observes
in King Saul. Some of the nobles and usurers imagine that
they have saved for my Gracious Elector three thousand gulden
yearly by cutting down music. Meanwhile they spend thirty
thousand gulden in useless ways in its place. Kings, princes,
and lords must support music, for it is the duty of great poten-
tates and rulers to maintain the liberal arts and laws; and al-
though here and there, ordinary and private persons have pleasure
in and love them, still they cannot sustain them.
[When some singers were rendering several fine and admirable.
motettes of Senfl, Dr. Martin Luther admired and praised them
highly. He remarked:] Such a motette I should not be able to
compose, even if I were to devote myself wholly to the art. Nor
could Senfl, on the other hand, preach on a psalm as well as I.
The gifts of the Holy Spirit are manifold; just as in one body
the members are manifold. But nobody is content with his gifts;
he is not satisfied with what God has given him. All want to
be the entire body, not the limbs.
Music is a glorious gift of God, and next to theology. I
would not exchange my small musical talent for anything es-
teemed great. We should accustom the youth continually to this
art, for it produces fine and accomplished people.


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LUTHER
LUTHER'S LETTER TO HIS LITTLE SON HANS, AGED SIX
G
RACE and peace in Christ, my dear little son. I hear with
great pleasure that you are learning your lessons so well
and praying so diligently. Continue to do so, my son, and
cease not. When I come home I will bring you a nice present
from the fair. I know a beautiful garden, where there are a
great many children in fine little coats, and they go under the
trees and gather beautiful apples and pears, cherries and plums;
they sing and run about and are as happy as they can be.
Sometimes they ride on nice little ponies, with golden bridles
and silver saddles. I asked the man whose garden it is, "What
little children are these? » And he told me, "They are little
children who love to pray and learn and are good. " When I
said, "My dear sir, I have a little boy at home; his name is little
Hans Luther: would you let him come into the garden, too, to
eat some of these nice apples and pears, and ride on these fine
little ponies, and play with these children? " The man said, "If
he loves to say his prayers and learn his lessons, and is a good
boy, he may come; Lippus [Melanchthon's son] and Jost [Jonas's
son] also; and when they are all together, they can play upon
the fife and drum and lute and all kinds of instruments, and skip
about and play with little crossbows. " He then showed me a
beautiful mossy place in the middle of the garden for them to
skip about in, with a great many golden fifes and drums and sil-
ver crossbows. The children had not yet had their dinner, and
I could not wait to see them play, but I said to the man: “My
dear sir, I will go away and write all about it to my little son
John, and tell him to be fond of saying his prayers, and learn
well and be good, so that he may come into this garden; but he
has a grand-aunt named Lehne, whom he must bring along with
him. " The man said, "Very well: go write to him. "
Now, my dear little son, love your lessons and your prayers,
and tell Philip and Jodocus to do so too, that you may all come
to the garden. May God bless you. Give Aunt Lehne my love,
and kiss her for me. Your dear father, Martinus Luther. In
the year 1530.
[Coburg, June 19th. ]


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LUTHER'S TABLE-TALK
DR.
R. LUTHER'S wife complaining to him of the indocility and
untrustworthiness of servants, he said: "A faithful and
good servant is a real Godsend, but truly, 'tis a 'rare bird
in the land. ' We find every one complaining of the idleness
and profligacy of this class of people: we must govern them
Turkish fashion,- so much work, so much victuals, -as Pharaoh
dealt with the Israelites in Egypt. "
-
-
"BEFORE I translated the New Testament out of the Greek,
all longed after it; when it was done, their longing lasted scarce.
four weeks. Then they desired the Books of Moses; when I had
translated these, they had enough thereof in a short time. After
that, they would have the Psalms; of these they were soon weary,
and desired other books. So will it be with the Book of Eccle-
siasticus, which they now long for, and about which I have taken
great pains. All is acceptable until our giddy brains be satisfied;
afterwards we let things lie, and seek after new. "
AUGUST 25th, 1538, the conversation fell upon witches who
spoil milk, eggs, and butter in farm-yards. Dr. Luther said:-
"I should have no compassion on these witches; I would burn
all of them. We read in the old law that the priests threw the
first stone at such malefactors. 'Tis said this stolen butter turns
rancid and falls to the ground when any one goes to eat it. He
who attempts to counteract and chastise these witches is himself
corporeally plagued and tormented by their master the Devil.
Sundry schoolmasters and ministers have often experienced this.
Our ordinary sins offend and anger God. What then must be
his wrath against witchcraft, which we may justly designate high
treason against divine majesty, a revolt against the infinite
power of God? The jurisconsults who have so learnedly and per-
tinently treated of rebellion affirm that the subject who rebels
against his sovereign is worthy of death. Does not witchcraft,
then, merit death, being a revolt of the creature against the
Creator, a denial to God of the authority it accords to the
demon ? »
-
DR. LUTHER discussed at length concerning witchcraft and
charms. He said that his mother had had to undergo infinite


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LUTHER
annoyance from one of her neighbors, who was a witch, and
whom she was fain to conciliate with all sorts of attentions; for
this witch could throw a charm upon children which made them
cry themselves to death. A pastor having punished her for some
knavery, she cast a spell upon him by means of some earth upon
which he had walked, and which she bewitched. The poor man
hereupon fell sick of a malady which no remedy could remove,
and shortly after died.
IT WAS asked: Can good Christians and God-fearing people
also undergo witchcraft? Luther replied, "Yes, for our bodies are
always exposed to the attacks of Satan. The maladies I suffer
are not natural, but devil's spells. "
"WHEN I was young, some one told me this story: Satan
had in vain set all his craft and subtlety at work to separate a
married pair that lived together in perfect harmony and love.
At last, having concealed a razor under each of their pillows,
he visited the husband, disguised as an old woman, and told
him that his wife had formed the project of killing him; he next
told the same thing to the wife. The husband, finding the razor
under his wife's pillow, became furious with anger at her sup-
posed wickedness, and cut her throat. So powerful is Satan in
his malice. "
DR. LUTHER said he had heard from the Elector of Saxony,
John Frederic, that a powerful family in Germany was de-
scended from the Devil,- the founder having been born of a suc-
cubus. He added this story:-"A gentleman had a young and
beautiful wife, who, dying, was buried. Shortly afterwards, this
gentleman and one of his servants sleeping in the same chamber,
the wife who was dead came at night, bent over the bed of the
gentleman as though she were conversing with him, and after a
while went away again. The servant, having twice observed this
circumstance, asked his master whether he knew that every night
a woman clothed in white stood by his bedside. The master
replied that he had slept soundly, and had observed nothing of
the sort. The next night he took care to remain awake. The
woman came, and he asked her who she was and what she
wanted. She answered that she was his wife. He returned,
'My wife is dead and buried. ' She answered, she had died by


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9343
reason of his sins; but that if he would receive her again, she
would return to him in life. He said if it were possible, he
should be well content. She told him he must undertake not
to swear, as he was wont to do; for that if he ever did so, she
should once more die, and permanently quit him. He promised
this; and the dead woman, returning to seeming life, dwelt with
him, ate, drank, and slept with him, and had children by him.
One day that he had guests, his wife went to fetch some cakes
from an adjoining apartment, and remained a long time absent.
The gentleman grew impatient, and broke out into his old oaths.
The wife not returning, the gentleman with his friends went
to seek her, but she had disappeared; only the clothes she had
worn lay on the floor. She was never again seen.
» *
"THE Devil seduces us at first by all the allurements of sin,
in order thereafter to plunge us into despair; he pampers up the
flesh, that he may by-and-by prostrate the spirit. We feel no
pain in the act of sin; but the soul after it is sad, and the con-
science disturbed. "
"THE Devil often casts this into my breast: 'How if thy
doctrine be false and erroneous, wherewith the pope, the mass,
friars and nuns are thus dejected and startled? ' at which the
sour sweat has drizzled from me. But at last, when I saw he
would not leave, I gave him this answer: 'Avoid, Satan: address
thyself to my God, and talk with him about it; for the doctrine
is not mine but his, he has commanded me to hearken unto
this Christ. '»
"BETWEEN husband and wife there should be no question as
to meum and tuum. All things should be in common between
them, without any distinction or means of distinguishing. "
"ST. AUGUSTINE said finely: 'A marriage without children is
the world without the sun. '»
DR. LUTHER said one day to his wife: "You make me do what
you will; you have full sovereignty here, and I award you with
all my heart the command in all household matters, reserving
* Barham has used this story in the 'Ingoldsby Legends,' 'The Blas-
phemer's Warning. '


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LUTHER
my rights in other points. Never any good came out of female
domination. God created Adam master and lord of living creat-
ures; but Eve spoilt all, when she persuaded him to set himself
above God's will. 'Tis you women, with your tricks and artifices,
that lead men into error. "
Tis a grand thing for a married pair to live in perfect
union, but the Devil rarely permits this. When they are apart,
they cannot endure the separation; and when they are together,
they cannot endure the always seeing one another. 'Tis as the
poet says: 'Nec tecum vivere possum, nec sine te. ' Married
people must assiduously pray against these assaults of the Devil.
I have seen marriage where, at first, husband and wife seemed
as though they would eat one another up; in six months they
have separated in mutual disgust. 'Tis the Devil inspires this
evanescent ardor, in order to divert the parties from prayer. ”
DR. LUTHER said, in reference to those who write satirical
attacks upon women, that such will not go unpunished. "If the
author be one of high rank, rest assured he is not really of noble
origin, but a surreptitious intruder into the family. What defects
women have, we must check them for in private, gently by word
of mouth; for woman is a frail vessel. " The doctor then turned
round and said, "Let us talk of something else.
"
THERE was at Frankfort-on-the-Oder a schoolmaster, a pious
and learned man, whose heart was fervently inclined to theology,
and who had preached several times with great applause. He
was called to the dignity of deacon; but his wife, a violent, fierce
woman, would not consent to his accepting the charge, saying
she would not be the wife of a minister.
It became a question, what was the poor man to do? which
was he to renounce, his preachership or his wife? Luther at first
said jocosely, "Oh, if he has married, as you tell me, a widow,
he must needs obey her. " But after a while he resumed severely:
"The wife is bound to follow her husband, not the husband his
wife. This must be an ill woman, nay, the Devil incarnate, to
be ashamed of a charge with which our Lord and his Apostles
were invested. If she were my wife, I should shortly say to her,
'Wilt thou follow me, aye or no? Reply forthwith; and if she
replied, 'No,' I would leave her, and take another wife. "


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9345
I
THE hair is the finest ornament women have. Of old, virgins
used to wear it loose, except when they were in mourning.
like women to let their hair fall down their back; 'tis a most
agreeable sight.
SAYINGS OF LUTHER
It is no
I
HAVE no pleasure in any man who despises music.
invention of ours: it is the gift of God. I place it next to
theology. Satan hates music: he knows how it drives the
evil spirit out of us.
THE strength and glory of a town does not depend on its
wealth, its walls, its great mansions, its powerful armaments;
but on the number of its learned, serious, kind, and well-educated
citizens.
GREEK and Latin are the scabbard which holds the sword of
the Spirit, the cases which inclose the precious jewels, the ves-
sels which contain the old wine, the baskets which carry the
loaves and fishes for the feeding of the multitude.
ONLY a little of the first fruits of wisdom-only a few frag-
ments of the boundless heights, breadths, and depths of truth-
have I been able to gather.
My own writings are like a wild forest, compared with the
gentle, limpid fluency of his [Brenz's] language. If small things
dare be compared with great, my words are like the Spirit of
Elijah,—a great and strong wind, rending the mountains and
breaking in pieces the rocks; and his is the still small voice.
But yet God uses also coarse wedges for splitting coarse blocks;
and besides the fructifying grain, he employs also the rending
thunder and lightning to purify the atmosphere.
I must root out the stumps and trunks, and I am a rough
woodsman who must break the road and prepare it: but Magis-
ter Philip [Melanchthon] goes on quietly and gently, plows and
plants, sows and waters joyfully.
BE TEMPERATE with your children; punish them if they lie or
steal, but be just in what you do. It is a lighter sin to take
pears and apples than to take money.
I shudder when I think
XVI-585


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LUTHER
what I went through myself.
nuts once till the blood came.
she meant well.
My mother beat me about some
I had a terrible time of it; but
NEVER be hard with children. Many a fine character has
been ruined by the stupid brutality of pedagogues. The parts of
speech are a boy's pillory. I was myself flogged fifteen times
in one forenoon, over the conjugation of a verb.
Punish if you
must; but be kind too, and let the sugar-plum go with the rod.
MY BEING Such a small creature was a misfortune for the Pope.
He despised me too much. What, he thought, could a slave
like me do to him to him who was the greatest man in the
world? Had he accepted my proposal he would have extin-
guished me.
THE better a man is, the more clearly he sees how little he
is good for, and the greater mockery it is to him to hold the
notion that he has deserved reward. Miserable creatures that
we are, we earn our bread in sin. Till we are seven years old,
we do nothing but eat and drink and sleep and play; from seven
to twenty-one we study four hours a day, the rest of it we run
about and amuse ourselves; then we work till fifty, and then we
grow again to be children. We sleep half our lives; we give
God a tenth of our time; and yet we think that with our good
works we can merit heaven. What have I been doing to-day?
I have talked for two hours, I have been at meals three hours,
I have been idle four hours: ah, enter not into judgment with
thy servant, O Lord!
THE barley which we brew, the flax of which we weave our
garments, must be bruised and torn ere they come to the use
for which they were grown. So must Christians suffer. The
natural creature must be torn and threshed. The old Adam
must die, for the higher life to begin. If man to rise to
nobleness, he must first be slain.
THE principle of marriage runs through all creation, and flow-
ers as well as animals are male and female.
PRAISE be to God the Creator, who out of a dead world makes
all live again. See those shoots, how they bourgeon and swell


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9347
on this April day! Image of the resurrection of the dead! Win-
ter is death; summer is the resurrection. Between them the
spring and autumn, as the period of uncertainty and change.
The proverb says-
"Trust not a day
Ere birth of May. "
Let us pray our Father in heaven to give us this day our
daily bread.
――――――――
WE ARE in the dawn of a new era; we are beginning to think
something of the natural world which was ruined in Adam's fall.
We are learning to see all around us the greatness and glory
of the Creator. We can see the Amighty hand-the infinite
goodness in the humblest flower. We praise him, we thank
him, we glorify him; we recognize in creation the power of his
word. He spoke, and it was there. The stone of the peach is
hard, but the soft kernel swells and bursts when the time comes.
An egg- what a thing is that! If an egg had never been seen
in Europe, and a traveler had brought one from Calcutta, how
would all the world have wondered!
IF A man could make a single rose, we should give him an
empire; yet roses, and flowers no less beautiful, are scattered in
profusion over the world, and no one regards them.


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THE EARL OF LYTTON
(1831-1891)
DWARD ROBERT, first earl of Lytton, a son of Bulwer the
novelist, and known to literature as "Owen Meredith," was
born November 8th, 1831, at London. He was educated at
Harrow, and privately at Bonn, Germany. He went early into diplo-
matic service, becoming private secretary to his uncle, Sir H. L.
Bulwer, then British minister at Washington. Various diplomatic posi-
tions followed: in 1874 he was made Minister at Lisbon; in 1878-80
Governor-General of India; and from 1887 to his death in Paris, No-
vember 24th, 1891, Ambassador to France.

Considering the political complexion of
his life and his importance as a figure in
the social world, Lytton wrote voluminously
and published many books. He aimed, first
and always, at being a poet; and did not
receive the critical recognition he desired,
being regarded as a fluent, graceful verse-
writer with more culture and knack than
original gift. Throughout his career he was
either underestimated or overpraised by his
adherents or opponents in statecraft.
He
began to write when a youth in the twen-
ties. Clytemnestra' (1855); The Wanderer'
(1859); Lucile' (1860); (Serbski Pesme, or
National Songs of Servia' (1861); The Ring of Amasis,' a novel (1863);
Chronicles and Characters' and 'Poems' (1867); Orval' (1869); 'Julian
Fane (1871); Fables in Song' (1874); Poems (1877); 'The Life,
Letters, and Literary Remains of Edward Bulwer, Lord Lytton'
(1883), an incomplete memoir of his father; Glenaveril; or, The Meta-
morphoses (1885); a volume of stories translated from the German
(1886); 'After Paradise' (1887); and the posthumous King Poppy'
(1892), make up the rather formidable list.
<
(
Owen Meredith's literary reputation rests in the main upon the
lyrics in the volume entitled 'The Wanderer,' and the clever verse
narrative Lucile'; which were given to the public in successive
years, and were all written when he was under thirty. A few
of the poems in the former volume have enough of grace, music,
LORD LYTTON


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THE EARL OF LYTTON
9349
and sentiment to give them a vogue more than temporary. 'Aux
Italiens,' perhaps the poem which keeps Lytton's name steadily before
the public, although it is liked best in the storm-and-stress period of
uncritical youth, has elements which commend it to maturer judg-
ment. It seizes on an incident of fashionable social life and imbues
it with the pathos of the past, with a sense of the irrevocableness of
old deeds and the glamour of early love. Certain stanzas in it have
the true touch; and as a whole, sophisticated production as it is, it
possesses power and beauty. Lucile,' which shows the influence of
Byron, and has had a popularity out of proportion to its importance,
is nevertheless a very successful thing in its kind, a brilliant tour
de force in social verse, of the light, bright, half cynical, half senti-
mental sort. Its dashing metre and its vivacity of presentation must
be conceded, in the same breath that one denies it the name of
poetry It is no easy matter to tell a modern story in rhyme so that
it is readable, enjoyable. Meredith has done this in 'Lucile'; done
it as well as any English poet of his day. That the nature of the
exploit is not such as to make the work among the highest things
of poetry, is no detraction. The success of an effort in literature is
to be measured by the correspondence of aim and accomplishment.
AT
-
AUX ITALIENS
T PARIS it was, at the Opera there;-
And she looked like a queen in a book that night,
With the wreath of pearl in her raven hair,
And the brooch on her breast, so bright.
Of all the operas that Verdi wrote,
The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore;
And Mario can soothe with a tenor note
The souls in Purgatory.
The moon on the tower slept soft as snow;
And who was not thrilled in the strangest way,
As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low,
"Non ti scordar di me»?
The Emperor there, in his box of state,
Looked grave, as if he had just then seen
The red flag wave from the city gate
Where his eagles in bronze had been.
The Empress too had a tear in her eye:
You'd have said that her fancy had gone back again,


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THE EARL OF LYTTON
935°
For one moment, under the old blue sky,
To the old glad life in Spain.
Well, there in our front-row box we sat,
Together, my bride-betrothed and I;
My gaze was fixed on my opera-hat,
And hers on the stage hard by.
And both were silent, and both were sad.
Like a queen she leaned on her full white arm,
With that regal, indolent air she had;
So confident of her charm!
I have not a doubt she was thinking then
Of her former lord, good soul that he was!
Who died the richest and roundest of men,-
The Marquis of Carabas.
-
I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven,
Through a needle's eye he had not to pass:
I wish him well, for the jointure given
To my lady of Carabas.
Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first love,
As I had not been thinking of aught for years,
Till over my eyes there began to move
Something that felt like tears.
I thought of the dress that she wore last time,
When we stood 'neath the cypress-trees together,
In that lost land, in that soft clime,
In the crimson evening weather;
Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot)
And her warm white neck in its golden chain.
And her full soft hair just tied in a knot,
And falling loose again;
And the jasmine-flower in her fair young breast;
(Oh, the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine-flower! )
And the one bird singing alone to his nest;
And the one star over the tower.
I thought of our little quarrels and strife;
And the letter that brought me back my ring.
And it all seemed then, in the waste of life,
Such a very little thing!


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For I thought of her grave below the hill,
Which the sentinel cypress-tree stands over,
And I thought, "Were she only living still,
How I could forgive her, and love her! "
And I swear as I thought of her thus, in that hour,
And of how, after all, old things were best,
That I smelt the smell of that jasmine-flower
Which she used to wear in her breast.
It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet,
It made me creep, and it made me cold!
Like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet
Where a mummy is half unrolled.
And I turned, and looked. She was sitting there
In a dim box, over the stage; and drest
In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair,
And that jasmine in her breast!
I was here, and she was there;
And the glittering horseshoe curved between;-
From my bride-betrothed, with her raven hair,
And her sumptuous, scornful mien,
To my early love, with her eyes downcast,
And over her primrose face the shade,-
In short, from the Future back to the Past,-
There was but a step to be made.
To my early love from my future bride
One moment I looked. Then I stole to the door;
I traversed the passage; and down at her side
I was sitting, a moment more.
My thinking of her, on the music's strain,
Or something which never will be exprest,
Had brought her back from the grave again,
With the jasmine in her breast.
She is not dead, and she is not wed!
But she loves me now, and she loved me then;
And the very first word that her sweet lips said,
My heart grew youthful again.
The Marchioness there, of Carabas,-
She is wealthy, and young, and handsome still;


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9352
THE EARL OF LYTTON
well, we'll let that pass:
She may marry whomever she will.
And but for her
But I will marry my own first love,
With her primrose face: for old things are best;
And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above
The brooch in my lady's breast.
The world is filled with folly and sin,
And Love must cling where it can, I say:
For Beauty is easy enough to win;
But one isn't loved every day.
And I think, in the lives of most women and men,
There's a moment when all would go smooth and even,
If only the dead could find out when
To come back and be forgiven.
But oh the smell of that jasmine-flower!
And oh that music! and oh the way
That voice ran out from the donjon tower,
"Non ti scordar di me,
Non ti scordar di me! "
LUCILE'S LETTER
From 'Lucile
ET ere bidding farewell to Lucile de Nevers,
YET
Hear her own heart's farewell in this letter of hers.
THE COMTESSE DE NEVERS TO A FRIEND IN INDIA
Once more, O my friend, to your arms and your heart,
And the places of old .
never, never to part!
Once more to the palm, and the fountain! Once more
To the land of my birth and the deep skies of yore!
From the cities of Europe, pursued by the fret
Of their turmoil wherever my footsteps are set;
From the children that cry for the birth, and behold,
There is no strength to bear them-old Time is so old!
From the world's weary masters, that come upon earth
Sapped and mined by the fever they bear from their birth;
From the men of small stature, mere parts of a crowd,


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Born too late, when the strength of the world hath been
bowed:
Back, back to the Orient, from whose sunbright womb
Sprang the giants which now are no more, in the bloom
And the beauty of times that are faded forever!
To the palms! to the tombs! to the still Sacred River!
Where I too, the child of a day that is done,
First leaped into life, and looked up at the sun,-
Back again, back again, to the hill-tops of home
I come, O my friend, my consoler, I come!
Are the three intense stars, that we watched night by night
Burning broad on the band of Orion, as bright?
Are the large Indian moons as serene as of old,
When, as children, we gathered the moonbeams for gold?
Do you yet recollect me, my friend? Do you still
Remember the free games we played on the hill,
'Mid those huge stones upheaved, where we recklessly trod
O'er the old ruined fane of the old ruined god?
How he frowned while around him we carelessly played!
That frown on my life ever after hath stayed,
Like the shade of a solemn experience upcast
From some vague supernatural grief in the past.
For the poor god, in pain more than anger he frowned,—
To perceive that our youth, though so fleeting, had found,
In its transient and ignorant gladness, the bliss
Which his science divine seemed divinely to miss.
Alas! you may haply remember me yet,—-
The free child, whose glad childhood myself I forget.
I come -a sad woman, defrauded of rest;
I bear to you only a laboring breast;
My heart is a storm-beaten ark, wildly hurled
O'er the whirlpools of time, with the wrecks of a world.
The dove from my bosom hath flown far away;
It is flown and returns not, though many a day
Have I watched from the windows of life for its coming.
Friend, I sigh for repose, I am weary of roaming.
I know not what Ararat rises for me
Far away, o'er the waves of the wandering sea:
I know not what rainbow may yet, from far hills,
Lift the primrose of hope, the cessation of ills:
But a voice, like the voice of my youth, in my breast
Wakes and whispers me on-to the East! to the East!
Shall I find the child's heart that I left there? or find
The lost youth I recall, with its pure peace of mind?


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THE EARL OF LYTTON
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Alas! who shall number the drops of the rain?
Or give to the dead leaves their greenness again?
Who shall seal up the caverns the earthquake hath rent?
Who shall bring forth the winds that within them are pent?
To a voice who shall render an image? or who
From the heats of the noontide shall gather the dew?
I have burned out within me the fuel of life,
Wherefore lingers the flame? Rest is sweet after strife.
I would sleep for a while. I am weary.
My friend,
I had meant in these lines to regather, and send
To our old home, my life's scattered links.
Each attempt seems to shatter the chaplet again;
Only fit now for fingers like mine to run o'er,
Who return, a recluse, to those cloisters of yore
Whence too far I have wandered.
But 'tis vain!
How many long years
Does it seem to me now since the quick, scorching tears,
While I wrote to you, splashed out a girl's premature
Moans of pain at what women in silence endure!
To your eyes, friend of mine, and to yours alone,
That now long-faded page of my life hath been shown
Which recorded my heart's birth, and death, as you know,
Many years since,- how many?
A few months ago
I seemed reading it backward, that page! Why explain
Whence or how? The old dream of my life rose again.
The old superstition! the idol of old!
It is over.
The leaf trodden down in the mold
Is not to the forest more lost than to me
That emotion. I bury it here by the sea,
Which will bear me anon far away from the shore
Of a land which my footsteps will visit no more;
And a heart's requiescat I write on that grave.
Hark! the sight of the wind, and the sound of the wave,
Seem like voices of spirits that whisper me home!
I come, O you whispering voices, I come!
My friend, ask me nothing.
Receive me alone
As a Santon receives to his dwelling of stone
In silence some pilgrim the midnight may bring:
It may be an angel that, weary of wing,


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Hath paused in his flight from some city of doom,
Or only a wayfarer strayed in the gloom.
This only I know: that in Europe at least
Lives the craft or the power that must master our East.
Wherefore strive where the gods must themselves yield at
last?
Both they and their altars pass by with the Past.
The gods of the household, Time thrusts from the shelf;
And I seem as unreal and weird to myself
As these idols of old.
Other times, other men,
Other men, other passions!
So be it! yet again
I turn to my birthplace, the birthplace of morn,
And the light of those lands where the great sun is born!
Spread your arms, O my friend! on your breast let me feel
The repose which hath fled from my own.
YOUR LUCILE.
FROM PROLOGUE TO THE WANDERER ›
OH
H, MOMENT of sweet peril, perilous sweet!
When woman joins herself to man; and man
Assumes the full-lived woman, to complete
The end of life, since human life began!