No More Learning

(2 Cor. v. 15. )
Consider our divine Redeemer, stretched on the cross as on a
funeral pile, a bed of state to which he is about to be immolated,
and acknowledge that in this circumstance, love has indeed been
stronger than death: over which it has doubly triumphed, because
it both ordained and consummated the sacrifice, of which death
has been only the instrument; and because by inducing our
divine Savior to die for us, it has rendered the most infamous
and cruel of all deaths sweeter than even love itself.
Had we the generosity and gratitude of the eagle we have
been speaking of, we would not hesitate at this sight to cast our-
selves in spirit on the cross of our divine Redeemer, to expire
thereon with him; and embracing him by our ardent affections,
we should exclaim, I hold him, and I will rather die than let
him go. Yes, I shall expire with him, the happy victim of his
love; the sacred fire which spared not my omnipotent Creator
must likewise immolate his creature. My Savior is entirely
mine: I desire to be wholly his; to live and die reposing on his


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SAINT FRANCIS DE SALES
12739
bosom, that neither death nor life may ever separate me from
him.
In this consists the holy and practical ecstasy of life and
action; it is produced by love, which causes us to renounce the
feelings and inclinations of corrupt nature, elevates us above
ourselves to conform our lives and actions to the will and
inspirations of Jesus Christ.
AN ACCOUNT OF THE EXTRAORDINARY DEATH OF A GENTLE-
MAN WHO DIED OF LOVE ON MOUNT OLIVET
From A Treatise on the Love of God'
I
SHALL add to the examples I have already related, a history
which has come to my knowledge, and which, though very
extraordinary, is not on this account less deserving of belief,
since, as the apostle says, "charity believeth all things": that is,
she cannot easily persuade herself that duplicity has been used
when there are no evident marks of falsehood in what is ad-
vanced, especially with regard to the love of God for man, or of
man for God: nothing is too extraordinary to be expected from
charity, which is the queen of virtues; and which, like the princes
of the earth, takes pleasure in performing great exploits to
extend her dominion, and increase the glory of her empire.
Though the fact I am about to state is not so generally
known, or so well authenticated, as so wonderful an event seems
to require, it is, however, no less true. St. Augustine has ob-
served that miracles, however extraordinary, are never well known
in the place where they have been performed, and are scarcely
believed though related by witnesses. Yet they are not less true.
on this account; pious and upright minds easily believe whatever
does honor to religion, and are more inclined to credit these
prodigies in proportion as they are more wonderful and difficult
to believe.
A gentleman remarkable for his virtues still more than for his
bravery and illustrious birth, went to Palestine to visit the holy
places where the great work of our redemption was accom-
plished. After having prepared himself for this holy exercise
by an exact confession and a fervent communion, he went first
to Nazareth, where the eternal Word was conceived, after the
angel had announced to the ever-blessed Virgin the mystery of


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12740
SAINT FRANCIS DE SALES
the incarnation. Here the devout pilgrim began to penetrate by
contemplation the abyss of the mercy of God, who to rescue us
from the state of perdition to which we had been reduced by
sin, deigned to assume a human form.
He then proceeded to Bethlehem; visited the stable in which
the divine Infant was born, and kissed the earth which had sup-
ported the tottering steps of his infancy. We could enumerate
the tears he shed, in reflecting on those which had streamed so
abundantly from the divine eyes of Jesus Christ! He then pro-
ceeded to Bethabara, and entered Bethany. There, remembering
that the Son of God had taken off his garments to be baptized,
he stripped himself of his, bathed in the Jordan, and drank of its
waters to satisfy his devotion. In doing so, he imagined that
he beheld the heavens opened, that he saw Jesus Christ receiving
baptism from the hands of his Precursor, and the Holy Ghost
descending visibly on him in the form of a dove; whilst a voice
was heard from heaven, saying, "This is my beloved son, in
whom I am well pleased. " (Matt. iii. 17. )
He quitted Bethany, and entered into the desert; where in
spirit he contemplated Jesus Christ fasting and resisting tempta-
tion, and also the angels who approached after his victory, and
gave him to eat. After considering his Savior transfigured on
Mount Tabor, he proceeded to Mount Sion; where he imagined
himself in the presence of Jesus Christ in the cenacle, washing
the feet of his apostles, and giving them his adorable body to
eat, after the institution of the blessed Eucharist.
He passed over the torrent of Cedron, and entered the garden
of Gethsemane, where he felt his heart penetrated with a delicious.
sorrow, which caused his tears to flow afresh, at the recollection
of his divine Redeemer's cruel agony and sweat of blood. He
next considered him bound by the soldiers, conducted to Jeru-
salem as a criminal; he followed him in spirit by the traces of
his blood, to all the different places where he was dragged,— to
the houses of Annas, Caiaphas, Pilate, and Herod,-where he con-
sidered him mangled with blows, despised, covered with spittle,
crowned with thorns, exposed to the ridicule and derision of the
populace, and condemned to death, loaded with his cross, walking
to Calvary; and meeting soon after his blessed Mother over-
whelmed with anguish, and the daughters of Jerusalem, who com-
passionated his sufferings and wept for the ignominious state to
which he was reduced.


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SAINT FRANCIS DE SALES
12741
The devout pilgrim, following exactly the steps of his Master,
arrived at length on the summit of Mount Calvary: there he in
spirit viewed the cross placed on the earth; he beheld Jesus
Christ stripped of his garments and fastened thereon, his hands.
and feet being cruelly pierced with nails; he then saw the cross
elevated and Jesus Christ suspended in the air between heaven
and earth, his blood flowing in copious streams from every part of
his sacred body. He casts a look at the Mother of Jesus, trans-
fixed with the sword of sorrow according to the prophecy of
Simeon; and then returning to the contemplation of his Savior,
he listens attentively to his expiring words; he wishes to receive
his last sigh, to consider him after death, to penetrate if pos-
sible into the innermost recess of his adorable heart, through the
opening made in his side by the spear.
He does not quit Calvary until he has seen the mangled body
of his divine Redeemer taken down from the cross; he follows
him to the sepulchre, bedewing with a torrent of tears the road
which had been sprinkled with the blood of Jesus Christ. He
enters the sepulchre, as if to entomb his heart near the body of
his departed Lord. After having died spiritually with him, by
compassion, he rises with him, by the joy he experiences at his
glorious resurrection. Having accompanied him to Emmaüs, and
meditated on his conversation with his two disciples, he returned
to Mount Olivet where the mystery of the Ascension was accom-
plished, that he might end his life on the spot where Jesus
Christ had terminated his mortal career.
There, viewing the last traces which the sacred feet of his
Redeemer had imprinted on earth, he prostrated himself, to em-
brace them a thousand times with inexpressible transports of love.
Then uniting his powers and affections, as an archer draws the
string of his bow before he shoots the arrow, he stood erect, and
raising his eyes and hands to heaven, exclaimed, "My divine Sav-
ior, I no longer know where to seek thee on earth: grant then
that my soul may ascend with thee, that it may soar to the regions
of never-ending happiness. " These inflamed words, pronounced
by a last effort of his united affections, like a bow violently bent,
freed the soul from her prison, and enabled her to dart like an
arrow to the object at which the holy pilgrim aimed.
The companions of his pilgrimage, seeing him fall suddenly,
hastened to his assistance: and quickly called a physician, who,
finding him lifeless, and being unable to divine the cause of so


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12742
SAINT FRANCIS DE SALES
sudden a death, inquired into his habits, temper, and constitution;
and being informed that he was of a gentle, affectionate disposi-
tion, inflamed with a great devotion and an ardent love of God,
he concluded that a violent effort of love must have opened
his heart; and to ascertain it beyond a doubt, he recommended
that his body should be opened. They actually found that his
heart had opened; and through the aperture, the words "Jesus,
my love" were seen imprinted thereon. Love performed the office
of death, by separating the soul from the body: this separation
could not be attributed to any other cause. The account of this
extraordinary death is given by St. Bernardin of Siena,-an
author no less venerable for his learning than his sanctity,- in
his first sermon on our Lord's Ascension.
Another author, nearly contemporary with the saint, who has
concealed his name through humility, though worthy of being
universally known, relates a still more wonderful circumstance in
a work entitled The Spiritual Mirror. '
He says that a young nobleman of Provence, remarkable for
his ardent love of God and his great devotion to the adorable
Sacrament of the Altar, being dangerously ill, and fearing that
he could not retain the blessed Eucharist because of the inces-
sant vomiting attendant on his malady, entreated of the clergy.
man to form the sign of the cross over him with the sacred Host,
and then to apply it to his bosom; which was accordingly done.
Immediately his heart, burning with divine love, opened; and
Jesus Christ, attracted by his ardent desires, entered through the
aperture under the form of the sacred species, and the invalid
expired.
I am aware that so extraordinary a circumstance requires to
be better authenticated: but after the miracle performed on St.
Clare of Montfalcon, whose heart is still to be seen with the
instruments of the Passion engraved on it; after the impression
of the stigmates on St. Francis, of which there can be no doubt,
I have no difficulty in believing the most miraculous effects of
Divine love.
______________


## p. 12743 (#157) ##########################################

12743
SALLUST (GAIUS SALLUSTIUS CRISPUS)
(86-34? B. C. )
(
ALLUST survives as the author of two brief historical mono-
graphs. The Conspiracy of Catiline' is twelve thousand
words in length; the story of the war against Jugurtha is
told in about twice as many. In the career of a Mommsen or a Park-
man, these might be mere contributions to a semi-popular magazine,
- perhaps later gathered up in a sheaf of minor essays. As to thor-
oughness in investigation, and conscientious faithfulness, Sallust never
rose to the level of Macaulay's schoolboy.
Yet among historians he has a right to
echo Heine's boast:-
:-

"When the greatest names are mentioned,
Then mine is mentioned too. "
Whence comes this lasting fame? Partly,
no doubt, from the meagreness of our
salvage from the Roman historians. Even
Livy and Tacitus survive only as torsos.
Cæsar's memoirs alone remain intact, as in-
destructible as are his larger monuments.
The really laborious and scientific work of
Varro, like Cato's 'Origines,' has vanished
almost utterly. And so we descend almost
at once to late and dull compilations. This pair of essays, there-
fore, each effectively centralized in plot, highly finished rhetorically,
is almost like an oasis in a desert land of conjecture and doubt.
In the great story of Roman imperial growth these two episodes
are incomparably less prominent than let us say the Nullification.
incident and the possible annexation of the Sandwich Islands to the
United States. Still, both have a certain epochal and pivotal charac-
ter which Sallust has not failed to emphasize. Indeed, Mommsen
offers much to support his own judgment that both these little books
are political pamphlets, whose chief purpose is to discredit still more
completely the beaten aristocracy, to glorify Marius and Julius as
the successive champions of the populace, and so contribute to the
rise of their successor, the young Octavian.
In fact, this political purpose is frankly though quietly indicated
to the attentive reader. Passing over the rather dismal personal
-
SALLUST


## p. 12744 (#158) ##########################################

12744
SALLUST
preface (Jugurtha,' i. -iv. ), we find early in Chapter v. : "I am about
to describe the war against Jugurtha, because
then first was
opposition made to the insolence of the nobility. "
On an early page, again, there is a clever introduction of Scipio
Africanus, evidently as the last of the great patriot nobles, to be con-
trasted with the greed and folly of his degenerate successors. When
the young African princeling Jugurtha had won his spurs under
Scipio's eye in the campaign against Numantia, he is ushered, at
parting, into the great consul's private tent, to hear words that fore-
shadowed the tragedy of his own life. "Cultivate rather the friend-
ship of the Roman people itself than of individuals. Do not fall into
the custom of bribe-giving. It is perilous to purchase from the few
what truly belongs to the many. If you persevere in your own
character, then glory, and royal power as well, will come to you un-
sought. If you make undue haste to meet them, the very money you
spend will bring your headlong downfall. "
We need not wonder whence Scipio derived his prophetic insight,
nor inquire too curiously which of the two would have handed down,
to Sallust the scribe, the very words of this secret fatherly counsel.
Nearly every page offers equally clear evidence that our two sketches
belong to the same "historical" school as Xenophon's romance of
Cyrus's boyhood.
In the use of grave general apophthegms, in a certain austere
ruggedness of condensation, and in occasional archaisms,- all traits
found chiefly in the longer set speeches, our author clearly attempts
at times to recall Thucydides. The comparison thus forced upon
us is, upon the whole, rash, not to say suicidal. Still, we may well
remember that even the conscientious Athenian lover of truth often
made his statesman's or general's speech represent merely the sub-
stance of what should have been said on some decisive occasion.
While the fierce Numidian chief long remains the central figure,
Marius is quietly and skillfully brought to the front of the stage. It
was impossible to make him the hero of the war itself, which had
been nearly finished by Metellus before he was displaced by his lieu-
tenant. Moreover, the final betrayal of Jugurtha throws little credit
on any one concerned. The essay culminates rather in the long
harangue to the people by the newly elected consul (Chapter 1xxxv. ).
The final words of the pamphlet bear out the views here sug-
gested as to its purpose, when they remind us that Marius was
re-elected consul before he could return from Africa to Italy, because
the Romans were panic-stricken by the great Celtic invasion. "All
other tasks seem easy to our valor: against the Gauls alone we
have always had to fight, not for glory, but for our very existence. "
Thus no reader could fail to be reminded that Cæsar, the conqueror


## p. 12745 (#159) ##########################################

SALLUST
12745
of Gaul, had completed the hardest of Marius's tasks, the defeat of the
Teutones and Cimbri, and so finally rescued Italy from its century-
long terror.
Space does not permit an adequate analysis of the 'Catiline. ' The
depreciation of Cicero and other patriotic aristocrats, the "whitewash-
ing" of the youthful Cæsar,- and even in some degree of his friend
the arch-conspirator,- have always been noted by observant readers.
The recognition of such a deliberate partisan purpose, followed out
in masterly fashion, only increases our sense of Sallust's rhetorical
skill. It is not to be supposed that any one studies him as a trust-
worthy source of historical facts.
Sallust's lost History covered only the years 78-67 B. C. The
speeches and letters of this work are preserved in a special collec-
tion; and several fragments from a vanished manuscript of the entire
work have also come to light in our century to pique our curiosity.
Perhaps the author's own memories would make this work doubly
valuable, though the contemporary Catiline by no means equals the
traditional Jugurtha in romantic interest. Once more, it is as a
stylist, more than as a historian, that Sallust lives at all. Over the
question "What is truth? " he lingered painfully as little as did
"jesting Pilate. "
The recorded incidents of Sallust's life are perhaps sufficient to
explain his Cæsarian partisanship. His first public appearance is as
tribune of the people, fiercely opposed to Cicero in the famous trial
of Milo. Only two years later he was expelled from the Senate on
account of his outrageously vicious private life. It was Cæsar who
by appointing him quæstor restored his senatorial rank. During the
civil war he was active on sea and land, and at its close remained
in Africa as proconsul. There he acquired enormous wealth; and re-
tiring henceforth from public life, he laid out upon the Quirinal Hill
those Gardens which remained so long a byword of imperial luxury.
He can hardly have been much more extortionate than other pro-
vincial governors. Even his profligacy, and its punishment, may have
been exaggerated by political malice and partisan ferocity. However,
he is not a winning character; and we are hardly reassured by the
pessimistic and Pharisaic tone struck in the personal introduction to
each of his two essays.
There are numerous school editions of the Jugurtha' and 'Cati-
line. ' Sallust is, however, hardly fitted to inspire or elevate the
youthful soul, and is passing somewhat out of popular use.
sufficiently faithful English versions, but none of high literary quality.


## p. 12746 (#160) ##########################################

12746
SALLUST
CATILINE AND HIS PLOT
From the History of Catiline's Conspiracy'
L
UCIUS CATILINE was descended of an illustrious family: he
was a man of great vigor, both of body and mind, but of
a disposition extremely profligate and depraved. From his
youth he took pleasure in civil wars, massacres, depredations,
and intestine broils; and in these he employed his younger days.
His body was formed for enduring cold, hunger, and want of
rest, to a degree indeed incredible: his spirit was daring, subtle,
and changeable; he was expert in all the arts of simulation
and dissimulation; covetous of what belonged to others, lavish of
his own; violent in his passions; he had eloquence enough, but
a small share of wisdom. His boundless soul was constantly
engaged in extravagant and romantic projects, too high to be
attempted.
Such was the character of Catiline, who, after Sylla's usurpa-
tion, was fired with a violent desire of seizing the government;
and provided he could but carry his point, he was not at all
solicitous by what means. His spirit, naturally violent, was daily
more and more hurried on to the execution of his design by his
poverty and the consciousness of his crimes: both which evils he
had heightened by the practices above mentioned. He was en-
couraged to it by the wickedness of the State, thoroughly debased
by luxury and avarice; vices equally fatal, though of contrary
natures.
In so great and corrupted a city, Catiline had always about
him what was no difficult matter to find in Rome - bands of
-
profligate and flagitious wretches, like guards to his person. For
all those who were abandoned to gluttony and voluptuousness,
and had exhausted their fortunes by gaming, feasting, and licen-
tiousness; all who were overwhelmed with debts (contracted to
purchase pardon for their crimes); all parricides and sacrilegious
persons from all quarters; [such as were already convicted crimi-
nals, or feared conviction;] nay, farther, all who lived by perjury
or by shedding the blood of citizens; lastly, all whom wickedness,
indigence, or a guilty conscience disquieted,-were united to Cati-
line in the firmest bonds of friendship and intimacy. Or if any
person of blameless character became familiar with him, then by
daily conversation, and the snares that were laid to corrupt him,
he too soon resembled, and even equaled, the rest. But what


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12747
Catiline chiefly courted was the intimacy of young men: their
minds, being soft and pliable, were easily ensnared. Some of
these he provided with mistresses; bought horses and dogs for
others: gratifying the favorite passion of each;-in a word, he
spared no expense, nor even his own honor, to engage them
heartily in his interests. Some there were, I know, who thought
that the youth who frequented Catiline's house were guilty of
licentiousness; but this rumor, I apprehend, was more owing to
other reasons than that there was any clear evidence of the fact.
As for Catiline himself, he had, when very young, been guilty
of many atrocious crimes, in open contempt of all law and order:
afterward he conceived a passion for Aurelia Orestilla,- one who
had nothing but her beauty to recommend her; and because she
scrupled to marry him, on account of his having a son who was
arrived at years of maturity, it is believed as a certain fact that
he destroyed that son, and made his house desolate, to open a
way for so infamous an alliance. And this indeed appears to me
to have been the principal cause that pushed him to the execu-
tion of the conspiracy: for his guilty soul, at enmity with gods
and men, could find no rest; so violently was his mind torn and
distracted by a consciousness of guilt. Accordingly, his counte-
nance was pale, his eyes ghastly, his pace one while quick, an-
other slow; and indeed in all his looks there was an air of
distraction.
As for the youth whom he had corrupted in the manner
above related, they were trained up to wickedness by various
methods: he taught them to be false witnesses, to forge deeds,
to throw off all regard to truth, to squander their fortunes, and
to slight dangers; and after he had stripped them of all reputa-
tion and shame, he pushed them on to crimes still more heinous;
and even when no provocation was given, it was their practice
to ensnare and murder those who had never injured them, as
well as those who had. For he chose to be cruel and mischiev-
ous without any cause, rather than that the hands and spirits
of his associates should lose their vigor for want of employment.
Confiding in these friends and accomplices, Catiline formed a
design to seize the government: he found an additional encour-
agement from the number of those who were oppressed with
debts throughout the State, and the disposition of Sylla's soldiers,
who, having squandered away what they had lately acquired, and
calling to remembrance their former conquests and depredations,


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12748
SALLUST
longed for a civil war. Besides, there was no army in Italy;
Pompey was carrying on a a war in the remotest parts of the
earth; he himself was in great hopes of obtaining the consul-
ship; the Senate seemed careless of the public; and all things
were quiet a conjuncture of circumstances extremely favorable
to his designs.
CATILINE'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOLDIERS BEFORE THE BATTLE
OF PISTORIA
From the History of Catiline's Conspiracy>
WHE
HEN Catiline saw himself inclosed by the mountains and
two hostile armies, and knew that his designs had mis-
carried in the city, and that there was neither hope of
escaping nor of receiving any succor,- he thought his best
way, in such a situation, was to try the fortune of a battle; and
determined to engage Antonius as soon as possible. Accord-
ingly, assembling his troops, he thus addressed them:—
"I have learned by experience, fellow-soldiers, that words
cannot inspire courage, nor a general's speech render a spiritless.
army brave and intrepid. Every man displays in battle just
so much courage as nature or habit has given him, and no more.
It is to no purpose to exhort him whom neither glory nor dan-
ger can animate: his fear deprives him of his hearing. I have
assembled you, fellow-soldiers, to instruct you in a few particu-
lars, and to lay before you the grounds of my final resolution.
"You all know what a dreadful calamity Lentulus, by his slow
and spiritless conduct, has brought on himself and us; and how
I have been prevented from marching into Gaul, by waiting for
reinforcements from Rome. In what posture our affairs now are,
you all see.
"Two armies-one from Rome, another from Gaul-obstruct
our advance. Want of provisions and other necessaries will not
allow us to stay longer here, were we ever so desirous of doing
it. To whatever place you think of marching, you yourselves
must open a passage with your swords. I conjure you then to
summon up all your courage; to act like men resolute and un-
daunted; to remember, when you engage, that you carry in your
hands riches, honor, and glory,- nay, even your liberty and
your country. If we overcome, all will be safe; we shall have


## p. 12749 (#163) ##########################################

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12749
plenty of provisions; the corporate towns and colonies will be
all ready to receive us. But if we fail through fear, the very
reverse will be our fate; nor will any place or friend protect
those whom arms could not. Let me add to this, my fellow-
soldiers, that we have different motives to animate us from what
the opposing army has. We fight for our country, for our lib-
erty, for our lives; they, for no interest of their own, but only to
support the power of a few. Let this consideration, then, engage
you to fall on them the more courageously, remembering your
former bravery.
"We might indeed have passed our remaining days, with
the utmost infamy, in banishment; some of you too might have
lived at Rome, depending for your subsistence on others, after
having lost your own estates. But such a condition appearing
equally disgraceful and intolerable to men of spirit, you resolved
on the present course. If you repent of the step, remember that
even to secure a retreat, the firmest valor is still indispensable.
Peace must be procured by victory alone, not by a groveling
cowardice. To hope for security in flight, when you have turned
away from the enemy the arms which serve to defend you, is
the height of madness. In battle, the most cowardly are always
in most danger: courage is a wall of defense. When I consider
your characters, fellow-soldiers, and reflect on your past achieve-
ments, I have great hopes of victory: your spirit, your age, your
virtue encourage me; and our necessity too, which even inspires
cowards with bravery,- for the narrowness of our position will
prevent the enemy's numbers from surrounding us. But should
fortune envy your valor, be sure you fall not without taking due
vengeance on the foe: suffer not yourselves to be captured and
slaughtered like cattle; but fight rather like men, and leave our
opponents a bloody and mournful victory. "
A NUMIDIAN DEFEAT
From the History of the War against Jugurtha'
N THAT part of Numidia which on the partition of the king-
dom fell to the share of Adherbal, was a river called Muthul,
flowing from the south; parallel to which, at the distance of
about twenty miles, was a mountain of equal length, desert and
uncultivated. Between this mountain and the river, almost at an


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12750
equal distance from each, rose a hill of prodigious height, covered
with olives, myrtles, and other trees, such as grow in a dry and
sandy soil; the intermediate plain was uninhabitable for want of
water, those parts only excepted which bordered on the river, in
which were many groves, and abundance of cattle.
Jugurtha took possession of this hill, which flanked the Ro-
mans in their march to the river, extending his front as far as
possible; and giving the command of the elephants and part of
the infantry to Bomilcar, with orders how to act, he posted him-
self with all the horse and the choicest of the foot nearer the
Then he rode round the several squadrons and bat-
talions, conjuring them "to summon up their former bravery, and
mindful of their late victory, to defend themselves and their coun-
try from Roman avarice. They were to engage with those whom
they had already vanquished, and forced to pass under the yoke;
and who had only changed their general, but not their character.
As for himself, he had done all that was incumbent on a gen-
eral: had secured to them the advantages of the ground, which
they were well acquainted with, and to which the enemy were
strangers; and had taken care not to expose them to an unequal
contest with an enemy superior in number or skill: they should
therefore, when the signal was given, fall vigorously on the
Romans; that day would either crown their former toils and vic-
tories, or be a prelude to the most grievous calamities. " Besides
addressing himself singly to such as he had rewarded with honors.
or money for their gallant behavior, he reminded them of his lib-
erality, and proposed them to others as patterns for their imitation.
In a word, he appealed to all, in a manner suited to the dispo-
sition and character of each; and by promises, threatenings, and
entreaties, labored to excite their courage.
In the mean time Metellus, descending from the mountain
with his army, without any knowledge of the enemy's motions,
discovered them on the hill. At first he was doubtful what to
think of so strange an appearance; for the Numidian horse and
foot were posted among the bushes, by reason of the lowness of
which they were neither altogether covered nor yet entirely dis-
cernible. The rugged nature of the place, united to the artifice
with which the whole was conducted, gave ample room for sus-
picion: but soon finding that it was an ambush, the general halted
his army, and altering the disposition of it, made the flank next
the enemy thrice as strong as before, distributed the slingers and


## p. 12751 (#165) ##########################################

SALLUST
12751
archers among the infantry, placed all the cavalry in the wings;
and animating them by a short speech suitable to the occasion,
he advanced in this order towards the plain.
Observing the Numidians to keep their ground, without offer-
ing to quit their station, and fearing that from the heat of the
season and the scarcity of water his army would be distressed
by thirst, Metellus ordered his lieutenant Rutilius, with the light-
armed cohorts and a detachment of horse, to proceed towards the
river, and secure a place to encamp on; judging that the enemy
would, by frequent skirmishes and attacks on his flank, endeavor
to retard his march, and to harass his men by means of thirst
and fatigue, as they could entertain no hope of success in battle.
He then advanced slowly, as his circumstances and situation
allowed him, in the same order as he had descended from the
mountain; posting Marius in the centre, and marching himself
in the left wing, at the head of the cavalry, which was now
become the front.
Jugurtha, when he saw that the Roman rear extended beyond
his first rank, detached two thousand foot to take possession of
that part of the mountain from which Metellus had descended,
that it might not serve the Romans for a place of security if
they were routed; and then, giving the signal, suddenly fell on
them.
Some of the Numidians made great slaughter in our rear,
while others charged us on the right and left; they advanced
furiously, fought vigorously, and everywhere broke our ranks.
Even those of our men who opposed them with the greatest
firmness and resolution were baffled by their disorderly man-
ner of fighting: finding themselves wounded from a distance, and
unable to return the blow or come to a close engagement; for
the Numidian cavalry, according to the instructions they had
received from Jugurtha, when any of the Roman troops advanced
against them, immediately fled, not in close order or in a body,
but dispersed as widely as possible. Though they could not by
these means discourage us from the pursuit, yet being superior
in number, they charged us either in flank or rear: and when it
appeared more convenient to fly to the hill than the plain the
Numidian horses, being accustomed to it, made their way more
easily through the thickets; while the Roman trooper, unaccus-
tomed to such rough and difficult places, was unable to follow
them.


## p. 12752 (#166) ##########################################

12752
SALLUST
The whole field presented a distressing spectacle, full of doubt
and perplexity and wild disorder: some flying, others pursuing;
all separated from their fellows; no standard followed; no ranks
preserved; every one standing on his own defense, and repulsing
his adversary wherever he was attacked; arms and darts, horses
and men, enemies and fellow-citizens, blended together in wild
confusion. In this scene of distraction, all order was at an end:
chance ruled supreme, and guided the tumult; so that though the
day was already far spent, the issue of the contest was still un-
certain.
At length, both sides being oppressed with fatigue and the
heat of the day, Metellus, perceiving the Numidian vigor abate,
rallied his men by degrees, restored their ranks, and posted four
legionary cohorts against the enemy's foot; a great part of which
had, through weariness, retired to the rising grounds for repose.
At the same time he entreated and exhorted his men not to lose
their courage, nor suffer a flying enemy to be victorious; adding
that they had no intrenchment or stronghold to which they could
retire, but that all their hopes were in their arms and valor.
Nor was Jugurtha in the mean time inactive, but appeared
on horseback, animated his men, renewed the battle, and at the
head of a select body made every possible effort: supported his
men where they were pressed; charged the Romans vigorously
where they seemed to waver; and where they stood firm, annoyed
them with darts from a distance.
Thus did the two generals contend for glory: both officers
of consummate ability, but differently situated, and as unequally
supported. Metellus had brave men, but a bad situation; Jugur-
tha had every other advantage but that of soldiers. At last
the Romans-considering that no place of refuge was left them,
that the enemy avoided every attempt to bring them to a regu-
lar engagement, and that night was fast approaching-advanced
up the hill, according to orders, and made themselves masters
of it.
The Numidians, having lost this post, were routed and put to
flight, but few of them slain: their own swiftness, and the nature
of the country-with which our men were unacquainted- sav-
ing most of them.
In the mean time Bomilcar,- to whom Jugurtha, as already
stated, had given the command of the elephants and part of the
infantry, when he saw that Rutilius had passed him, drew


## p. 12753 (#167) ##########################################

SALLUST
12753
-
down his men slowly into the plain; where without interruption
he ranged them in order of battle, as the exigency required, while
the lieutenant was marching in great haste to the river: nor did
he neglect to watch the motions and to learn the designs of the
Romans. On receiving intelligence that Rutilius was encamped
and appeared to consider himself in a state of security, Bomilcar
- perceiving that the noise of the battle in which Jugurtha
was engaged still increased, and fearing lest the lieutenant should
return to reinforce the consul -resolved to obstruct his passage;
and extending the front of his line,-which before, distrustful
of the steadiness of his troops, he had formed close and com-
pact, in this order advanced to the camp of Rutilius.
The Romans on a sudden perceived a vast cloud of dust,
which at first they conjectured to be raised by the wind sweep-
ing over an arid and sandy surface; for the country was covered
on all sides with copsewood, which obstructed their view of the
Numidians: but observing the cloud to move with regularity, and
approach nearer and nearer as the Numidians marched forward,
they perceived the cause of the phenomenon; and flying to their
arms, drew up before the camp according to orders. When the
enemy came up, a tremendous shout was raised on both sides,
and they rushed with fury to the onset.
The Numidians maintained the contest as long as their ele-
phants could be of any service to them: but when they saw
them entangled among the branches of the trees and surrounded
by the Romans, they betook themselves to flight; and throwing
away their arms, escaped, most of them unhurt,-partly by the
advantage of the hill, and partly by favor of the night. Four
elephants were taken; the rest, forty in number, were all slain.
The Romans, however much exhausted by their march, by
fortifying their camp, and by the late unexpected encounter,
were flushed with success; and as Metellus tarried beyond their
expectation, they advanced resolutely in order of battle to meet
him: for such was the subtlety of the Numidians as to leave no
room for inactivity or remissness. When the heads of the two
friendly columns approached each other in the darkness of the
night, the noise on both sides occasioned mutual apprehensions
of an approaching enemy; and this mistake had well-nigh pro-
duced the most fatal consequences, had not some horsemen dis-
patched by both parties discovered the true cause of it. Mutual
congratulations quickly succeeded to apprehension: the soldiers
XXII-798


## p. 12754 (#168) ##########################################

12754
SALLUST
joyfully called to one another by name, recounting their late ex-
ploits, and every one extolling his own gallant behavior; for such
is the nature of human affairs, that when victory is obtained,
cowards may boast, while defeat casts reproach even on the
brave.
Metellus continued four days in the same camp: administered
relief to the wounded; conferred the usual military rewards on
such as had distinguished themselves in the late engagements;
commended the whole army, which he assembled with that view;
returned them his public thanks; and exhorted them "to act
with equal courage in what further remained, which was but lit-
tle. They had already fought sufficiently for victory: their future
labors would be only to enrich themselves by the spoils of con-
quest. "
SPEECH OF MARIUS
From the History of the War against Jugurtha'
I
KNOW, Romans, that most of those who apply to you for pre-
ferment in the State assume a different conduct from what
they observe after they have obtained it. When they are can-
didates, they are active, condescending, and modest; when magis-
trates, haughty and indolent: but to me the contrary conduct
appears reasonable; for in proportion as the good of the State is
of more importance than the consulship or prætorship, the greater
care and attention is requisite to govern the commonwealth than
to court its dignities.
I am very sensible what an arduous task is imposed on me
by your generous choice of me: to make preparations for the
war, and yet to be sparing of the treasury; to oblige those to
serve whom you would not willingly offend; to attend to every-
thing both at home and abroad; and to perform all this amid
a confederacy of envious men, eternally obstructing your meas-
ures and caballing against you,-it is, O Romans! a more difficult
undertaking than can be readily imagined. Moreover, if others
fail in the discharge of their duty, the ancient lustre of their
family, the heroic actions of their ancestors, the credit of their
kindred and friends, and their numerous dependents, afford them
protection. But for me, my resources lie solely in myself; my
firmness and integrity alone must protect me: every other sup-
port would be of little avail.


## p. 12755 (#169) ##########################################

SALLUST
12755
I am well aware too, Romans, that the eyes of all are on
me: that all honest, all candid men, pleased with my successful
endeavors to serve the State, wish well to me; but that the
nobility watch for an opportunity to ruin me. Hence I must
labor the more strenuously that you be not ensnared by them,
and that they be disappointed. From my childhood to the pres-
ent time, my manner of life has been such that toils and dangers
are now habitual to me. The course I pursued, Romans, merely
from a disinterested principle, before you conferred any favors
on me, I shall not discontinue now that you have bestowed so
noble a recompense. Those who put on the deceitful guise and
semblance of virtue to obtain power, must when possessed of it
find it difficult to act with moderation; but to me, whose whole
life has been an uninterrupted series of laudable pursuits, virtue,
through the force of habit, is become natural.
You have ordained that I should have the management of
the war against Jugurtha: an ordinance highly displeasing to the
nobility. Now I pray you, consider within yourselves whether
you had not better alter your choice, and employ on this, or any
other similar occasion, one of the tribe of the nobility: a man of
ancient family, surrounded with the images of his ancestors, and
who has never been in the service. See how, on such an import-
ant occasion, he will hurry and be confounded; and, ignorant of
his whole duty, apply to some plebeian to instruct him in it.
And thus it commonly happens that he whom you have appointed
your general is obliged to find another from whom to receive his
orders.
I know, Romans, some who, after entering on the consular
office, began to study the history of our ancestors, and the mili-
tary precepts of the Greeks. Preposterous method! For though,
in the order of time, the election to offices precedes the exercise
of men,- yet in the order of things, qualifications and experi-
ence should precede election.
New man as I am, Romans, compare me with these haughty
nobles. What they have only read or heard of, I have seen
performed or performed myself; what they have gathered from
books, I have learned in the service. Now do you yourselves judge
whether practice or speculation is of greater value. They despise
me for the meanness of my descent; I despise them for their in-
dolence: I am upbraided with my success; they with their crimes.
I am of opinion that nature is always the same, and common


## p. 12756 (#170) ##########################################

12756
SALLUST
to all; and that those who have most virtue have most nobility.
Suppose it were possible to put the question to the fathers of
Albinus or Bestia, whether they would rather have chosen me
for their descendant, or them? What answer do you think they
would make, but that they should have desired to have had the
most deserving men for their sons? But if they have reason
to despise me, they have the same cause to despise their ances-
tors, whose nobility, like mine, took its rise from their military
virtue. They envy my advancement: let them likewise envy my
toils, my integrity, my dangers; for by these I gained it.
These men, in truth, blinded with pride, live in such man-
ner as if they slighted the honors you have to bestow, and yet
sue for them as if they had deserved them. Deluded men! to
aspire at once after two things so opposite in their nature, the
enjoyment of the pleasures of effeminacy, and the fruits of a
laborious virtue! When they harangue too before you, or in
the Senate, they employ most of their eloquence in celebrating
their ancestors, and vainly imagine that the exploits of these
great men reflect a lustre on themselves: whereas it is quite
the reverse; for the more illustrious were the lives of the dead,
the more scandalous is the spiritless and unmanly behavior of
these their descendants. The truth of the matter is plainly this:
the glory acquired by ancestors is like a light diffused over the
actions of their posterity, which suffers neither their good nor bad
qualities to be concealed.
This light, Romans, is what I lack; but what is much more
noble, I can recount my own achievements. Mark the inconsist-
ency of my adversaries! What credit they arrogantly claim to
themselves for the exploits of others, they deny me for my own;
and what reason do they give for it? why, truly this: that I have
no images of my ancestors to show, and my nobility is no older
than myself. But surely it is more honorable for one to acquire
nobility himself than to debase that which he derives from his
predecessors.
I am sensible, Romans, that if they were to reply to what I
now advance, they would do so with great eloquence and force.
Yet as they have given a loose rein to their calumniating
tongues on every occasion - not only against me, but likewise
against you-ever since you have conferred this dignity on me,
I was resolved to speak, lest some should impute my silence to
a consciousness of guilt. Though I am abundantly satisfied that


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SALLUST
12757
no words can injure me, since if what is said be true, it
must be to my honor; if false, my life and conduct will confute.
it, yet because your determination is blamed, in bestowing on
me the highest dignity of the State, and trusting me with the
conduct of affairs of such importance, I beseech you to consider
whether you had not better alter your choice. I cannot indeed
boast of the images, triumphs, or consulships of my ancestors, to
raise your confidence in me; but if it be necessary, I can show
you spears, banners, collars of merit, and other military distinc-
tions, besides a body scarred with honorable wounds. These are
my statues! These are the proofs of my nobility! not derived
from ancestors, as theirs are, but such as I have myself won by
many toils and dangers.
――――――――――
My language is too unpolished; but that gives me small con-
cern,- virtue shows itself with sufficient clearness. They stand
in need of the artful colorings of eloquence to hide the infamy
of their actions. Nor have I been instructed in the Grecian
literature! Why, truly, I had little inclination to that kind of
instruction, which did not improve the authors of it in the least
degree of virtue. But I have learned other things far more
useful to the State: to wound the enemy; to watch; to dread
nothing but infamy; to undergo cold and heat alike; to lie on the
bare ground; to bear hunger and fatigue. These lessons shall ani-
mate my troops; nor shall I ever be rigorous to them and indul-
gent to myself, or borrow my glory from their toils. This is the
mode of commanding most useful to the State; this is what suits
the equality of citizens. To treat the army with severity while
you indulge yourself in ease and pleasure is to act the tyrant, not
the general.
--
By conduct like this, our forefathers gained immortal honor
both to themselves and the republic: while our nobility, though
so unlike their ancestors in character, despise us who imitate
them; and demand of you all public honors, not on account of
their personal merit, but as due to their high rank. Arrogant
men; how mistaken! Their ancestors left them everything in
their power to bequeath: their wealth, their images, their high
renown; but their virtue they did not leave them, nor indeed
could they; for it can neither be given nor received as a gift.
They hold me to be unpolished and ill-bred, because I cannot
entertain elegantly, have no buffoon, and pay no higher wages to
my cook than to my steward,- every part of which accusation,


## p. 12758 (#172) ##########################################

12758
SALLUST
Romans, I readily admit: for I have learned from my father and
other venerable persons that delicacy belongs to women, labor to
men; that a virtuous man ought to have a larger share of glory
than of riches; and that arms are more ornamental than splendid
furniture.
But let them still pursue what is so dear and delightful to
them: let them indulge in wine and pleasure; let them spend
their old age, as they did their youth, in banqueting and the
lowest sensual gratifications; let them leave the fatigues and dan-
gers of the field to us, to whom they are more welcome than the
most elegant entertainments! Even this they will not do; for
after debasing themselves by the practice of the foulest and most
infamous vices, these most detestable of all men endeavor to
deprive the brave of the rewards that are due to them. Thus-
by the greatest injustice-luxury and idleness, the worst of vices,
are noway prejudicial to those who are guilty of them; while they
threaten the innocent commonwealth with unmerited ruin.
Now, since I have answered these men as far as my own
character was concerned, though not so fully as their infamous
behavior deserved, I shall add a few words concerning the state
of public affairs. And first, Romans, be of good courage as to
Numidia: since you have now removed all that hitherto secured
Jugurtha; namely, the covetousness, incapacity, and haughtiness
of our commanders. There is an army stationed in Africa, well
acquainted with the country, but indeed less fortunate than brave;
for a great portion of it has been destroyed by the rapacious-
ness and rashness of its commanders. Do you, therefore, who are
of age to bear arms, join your efforts to mine, and assume the
defense of the commonwealth; nor let the fate of others, or the
haughtiness of the late commanders, discourage any of you: when
you march, when you engage, I will always be with you to direct
your campaign, and to share every danger. In a word, I shall
desire you to act no otherwise in any instance than as you see
me act. Moreover, all things are now ripe for us,— victory, spoil,
and glory; and even though they were uncertain or distant, it
would still be the duty of every good citizen to assist the State.
No man ever became immortal by inactivity; nor did ever any
father wish his children might never die, but rather that they
might live like useful and worthy men. I should add more to
what I have already said, if words could inspire cowards with
bravery: to the valiant I think I have said enough.


## p. 12758 (#173) ##########################################



## p. 12758 (#174) ##########################################


ICKICK
GEORGE SAND.
Fro
gor
Jo


## p. 12758 (#175) ##########################################

3
?


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## p. 12759 (#177) ##########################################

12759
GEORGE SAND
(BARONNE DUDEVANT: Born Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin)
(1804-1876)
BY TH. BENTZON (MADAME THÉRÈSE BLANC)
F GENIUS means creative faculty constantly renewed, and pow-
erful and fertile inspiration, then George Sand certainly
had more genius than any other female writer. Others
are distinguished by a more chastened talent, or have soared to the
heaven of art on a steadier wing, but none have surpassed her in
magnificent spontaneity. One of her latest critics-speaking of
her ample and copious style, which satisfied even Flaubert, yet is
frequently disparaged by modern chiselers of "artistic writing"-
uses the expressive Latin phrase lactea ubertas; giving the idea of
an abundant stream of generous milk ever gushing forth and over-
flowing. M. Jules Lemaître adds that this quality resembles natural
kindness of heart, and is its near relative. And he is right. George
Sand was above all else kind-hearted, and was most womanly in this;
she was truly feminine also in her extraordinary power of assim-
ilation, which however did not interfere with her originality, as
everything she absorbed, whether ideas or knowledge, seemed to
blossom in a new and personal form when she applied it.
Nothing is more interesting than to go to the source of her life
to find the determining causes of her work; and to her friendships,
chosen in the most varied spheres, to follow the evolutions of her
thought. One can then see that she was an admirable instrument,
formed by nature in one of her exceptional moods, to vibrate with
extraordinary intensity under every influence approaching her. The
aspirations, failures, doctrines, the good and evil, of half a century,
palpitate in her noble fictions, even though we can here and there
discern the errors of a mind led astray by enthusiasm. Every prob-
lem interesting to contemporary humanity attracted her broad sympa-
thies. Long before those avowed apostles of pity, the Russian writers,
she felt that "for those who are born compassionate, there will always
be something to love, and consequently to pity, serve, and suffer for,
on earth. " She was the first who said forcibly that the most living
and religious source of the progress of the human mind was in the
idea of solidarity.
-
And this is why she will always be great, in spite of the trans-
formation of taste, which in the name of pretended realism declares


## p. 12760 (#178) ##########################################

12760
GEORGE SAND
this idealist somewhat out of fashion. It is not her fault if her
instinct always led her to write poetic rather than analytic works.
According to her theories of art,—and very instructive theories they
are,- a novel should be a mixture of both, with true situations and
characters grouped around a type intended to personify the senti-
ment of the book. The author must not be afraid to give this sen-
timent all the force with which he aspires to it himself, but must
on no account degrade it in the play of events. He may moreover
lend it powers above the average, and charms and sufferings beyond
the probabilities admitted by the greater number of minds. Above
all, the author must beware of thinking that he does not need a faith
of his own for writing, and that it is enough to reflect facts like
a mirror. "No, this is not true: readers are attracted only to the
writer with an individuality, whether this pleases or shocks them. ”
This phrase is in a letter which George Sand wrote me, while she
emphasized the following words: "The soul must not be void of
faith, for talent cannot develop in a vacuum; it may flutter there
for a moment, but only to expire. "
Truly this has nothing in common with the cruel impersonality so
boasted of nowadays: this is not the novel as understood by M. Zola,
who has never agreed with her that true reality is made up of both
beauty and ugliness, and that the will to do good finds its place and
use after all; nor is it the laborious effort, often driven to the point
of anguish, of her friend Flaubert, who used to torture himself to
find an epithet, and to whom she said, when scolding him: "Feed
on the ideas and sentiments stored in your brain and your heart;
form, which you think so important, will be the result of
your digestion, without any help. You consider it an aim, it is
only an effect. " The minutely detailed psychology of a certain school
was equally foreign to her, although she has made some superb and
profound studies of character: fraternal jealousy in 'Jean de la
Roche,' and Prince Karl's jealousy of the past in Lucrezia Floriani,'
-merely to mention one of the passions into which she delved
deeply. But her aim was to interest, above all else, and who shall
dare to say that she was wrong? In her eyes supreme impartial-
ity was something anti-human; incompatible with the novel, whose
prime object is to be human. She wrote for the sheer delight of
giving the best of her heart and brains to many others. As for
the improbabilities she is accused of trying to make people accept
on principle, we must admit that very often nothing is more improb-
able than reality itself, especially when that reality is the life of
George Sand; whence, as may be readily understood, she drew her
inspiration with an artist's privilege. Every contrast can be found
in it; the wildest extravagance of fancy as well as a bourgeoise sim-
plicity.
-
•


## p. 12761 (#179) ##########################################

GEORGE SAND
12761
Aurore Dupin was born the year of Napoleon's coron
ronation, at the
apogee of the glories of France; which she always loved passionately,
while at the same time she had an extremely correct opinion of the
faults of the Latin races, particularly that lack of practical common-
sense she was so aware of in herself, and which condemns one either
to be led or made use of by others. Nevertheless there was a mix-
ture of foreign blood in her veins; and strangely enough, she had
inherited her republican soul through royal descent,-twice branded,
however, with the stigma of illegitimacy. She was a descendant of
Augustus II. , Elector of Saxony and King of Poland; for her grand-
mother was a natural daughter of the Maréchal de Saxe, and had
married M. Dupin de Francueil. It was impossible for those who,
like me, knew her in her old age, not to compare her, on seeing her
so calm, dignified, and tenderly devoted to her children, to that
noble woman who had been the lady of the manor of Nohant before
her, had brought her up, and bequeathed her some of her tastes,
among them a love for music.
Madame Dupin had known Gluck and Piccini; she interpreted the
old masters-Porpora, Hasse, Pergolese - etc. , with deep feeling, in
spite of her semi-paralyzed fingers and voice cracked by old age, but
once so magnificent. Through her, her granddaughter received those
musical impressions that abound in the delightful story of Consuelo,'
where George Sand displays so complete an acquaintance with the
manners and spirit of the eighteenth century. Madame Dupin de
Francueil had, besides her talents and most remarkable mental quali-
ties, all those natural virtues that can be strengthened by philosophy
in the absence of religious belief.
The direction given by such a mother had already begun to bear
its fruits in Maurice, the father of the future George Sand,—a brave
soldier during the Revolution, who became a handsome officer of the
First Empire, and died young, but had the intuitive gift of writing,
as his brilliant and gushing letters prove; yet his excellent heart
had inherited certain ancestral weaknesses. He became attached to
a girl of low birth and no education, who had already been led into
sorry adventures. And so the blood of kings and heroes mingled with
that of the lower-class Parisians in the veins of the little girl, who
at a later day was to transform the active qualities of her ancestors
into qualities of imagination. Her maternal grandfather had been a
bird-seller, who plied his trade on the quays of the Seine; and it
is interesting to note the love that George Sand had all her life
for feathered folk. She has spoken of them almost as eloquently as
of music and children,- those divine themes which her pen never
exhausted. And the fascination was reciprocal. In her garden at
Nohant she used to walk surrounded by a flock of sparrows and


## p. 12762 (#180) ##########################################

12762
GEORGE SAND
goldfinches, who trustfully pecked from the hands held out to them,
just as she describes it in Teverino. '
George Sand owed something more than her love of birds to her
mother, whom she loved passionately, but whose inferior station,
barely tolerated by the family, made the daughter suffer keenly;-
I mean a deep tenderness for the poor and lowly, an advanced pre-
dilection for outlaws of all sorts, a revolt against social prejudices
and conventionalities, and a certain bohemianism that-in her youth
especially was constantly struggling against that good-breeding
which nevertheless served her so well for giving her personages the
tone proper to good society. Her most perfect specimen of this is
the old Marchioness in 'Le Marquis de Villemer'; yet in spite of her
plebeian sympathies, the same refinement appears everywhere. And
here we have the evidence of her grandmother's and the convent's
influence.
―
Aurore Dupin's years at the English nuns' convent contributed not
a little to the formation of a peculiar manner, in which so many con-
trary elements were combined. Her free-thinking grandmother had
put her in this pious retreat out of respect to the customs of society.
She wished the dreamy and untrained child, who had grown up in all
the freedom of country life, and was adopting peasant habits, to learn
good manners. Let us hasten to add that for our future joy, George
Sand always remained somewhat a peasant; we owe her admirable
pastoral novels to this rustic substratum. She certainly conceived
their germ in the ruminating life she led when quite a child at
Nohant, in the company of little shepherds who charmed her with
the legends she used so well later on.
The convent made a mystic of this wild creature, but not at once,
for she bore her well-deserved name of Madcap a long time; still, the
influence of a group of women of the highest moral superiority acted
upon her by degrees. She has rendered them the most grateful hom-
age in her 'Memoirs,' recognizing that the years spent in that great
female family were the happiest and most peaceful of her life.
1
Religious idealism seems to have been innate with George Sand.
Brought up by a Voltairean grandmother with contempt for what she
called superstitions, she had made up a religion for herself out of a
compound of mythology, fairy stories, and theories of political equal-
ity gathered in. her childish readings- seemingly least fitted to sug-
gest it. Her first poetic effort-and this word must be used from the
beginning in speaking of her prose was written to extol Corambé;
a beneficent genius, to whom she raised altars in the park at Nohant
when about eleven years old, at the time when she was under the
double spell of the Iliad and Jerusalem Delivered. ' Jesus and his
Gospel succeeded the somewhat pagan phantom she had adored
―――――


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GEORGE SAND
12763
during her pensive childhood: the most ardent piety seized her, and
she came near consecrating herself to a religious life; this would have
been a great loss to French literature. Fortunately the wisdom of
the nuns curbed her excessive zeal; yet all through life she had that
sacred pain, which has been so aptly termed "the anguish of divine
things. " If it had not been for this, she never could have expressed,
as she did many years later in 'Spiridion,' all the agony endured by
the soul of a young priest on losing his faith. The influence of her
intimacy with Abbé de Lamennais can be traced here; but there is
more than that, there is a personal experience.
Aurore astounded her grandmother by coming home a Catholic.
She soon ceased to find certitude in dogma, however. A most irregu-
lar course of reading led her helter-skelter through all philosophies
and all literatures. Spinoza seized her; her admiration made her set
Leibnitz above all metaphysicians; she came in turn under the as-
cendency of Châteaubriand, Shakespeare, Goethe, and Byron; but her
real master was Rousseau. By her first novels especially she belongs
to his school; no freer from the great fault of declamation than he,
as enamored of nature as he had been, and able to speak the burn-
ing language of love as he had known how to speak it.
If it is true that modern pedagogy, by following methods and
giving an important place to science, has the inevitable result of kill-
ing women's imagination and making them uniform, then George
Sand was a most privileged creature; for she was brought up with-
out a plan,-educating herself hap-hazard, learning a little Latin
when quite a child with Deschartres, her deceased father's preceptor,
and no doubt picking up many other things as well, while with that
learned and eccentric man. She was influenced by the convent
next, where her ardor for learning was somewhat benumbed; and
finally turned loose in a library, where like a bee she made honey
of everything.
A perfect rage for reading and physical exercise, long hours of
study alternating with long rides, were her peculiarities, when some
of her imprudent friends thought it was time to marry this young
girl, so entirely free from coquetry or even the desire to please.
Her large, black, dreamy eyes seemed ever following some inward
vision, and gave her, as she says herself, a stupid look; in fact she
never was bright at any period of her life. Her conversation was
not brilliant, although she has often made her written dialogues
extremely so; talking tired her, and the George Sand of future liter-
ary dinners usually played there a mute part. Melancholy by reflec-
tion, she needed gayety; and this silent creature often surprised
those about her by sudden outbursts of animal spirits. Moreover, she
never thought herself handsome. (Balzac, who has described her as


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12764
GEORGE SAND
Camille Maupin in his novel 'Beatrix,' has contradicted her on this
point. )
She was given in marriage to M. Dudevant, the son of a retired
colonel. He had been an officer himself, but was now nothing but
a hunting country-gentleman, and at times a hard drinker. It will
surprise no one that this hasty and ill-assorted union was unhappy.
It is more astonishing that it should have lasted nearly ten years.
To give it so long life, it needed the all-powerful assistance of ma-
ternity, George Sand's really great passion, and her only lasting and
indestructible one. She nursed her children herself; took care of
them night and day, even at the beginning of her restless career;
always found the time to look after them most tenderly; and at
last, in the later period of her life, when she had calmed down, she
became the indefatigable educator of her granddaughters.
She was
most skillful with her needle, and did not despise any household
detail. I saw her thus when she was sixty years old; but when she
was twenty she enjoyed dancing the bourrée with the peasants on
holidays as well.
Finally all this was not enough for her, and she went to Paris
for a short time every year; but as her husband, the master of their
common fortune, gave her a ridicuously small allowance, she util-
ized her talents in order to live,― made crayon portraits, painted min-
iature ornaments, or collaborated with several journalists from her
native province of Berri, for the Figaro. These articles never were
remarkable, as George Sand had neither the requisite spirit and
dash, nor had she any talent for brevity; although later she suc-
ceeded several times in short stories, as those rare pearls 'Lavinia,'
'Metella,' etc. , prove. By a remarkable coincidence, 'Lavinia,' pub-
lished before 1838, resembles Owen Meredith's 'Lucile,' published in
1860, almost stroke for stroke.
One year when she was in the country, having read much of
Walter Scott, she wrote her first novel. ་ Having read it over," she
says ingenuously, "I concluded that it was good for nothing; but
that I could write some not quite so bad. " She had found her voca-
tion.
At first Jules Sandeau wrote with her, and later left her half his
surname. As for "George," it is as common a name in Berri as
"Patrick" in Ireland. The courts did not decree the legal separa-
tion of M. and Madame Dudevant until 1836. It was in favor of the
latter, intrusting her with the education of her two children; this
proves that all the blame cannot have been hers.