No More Learning

'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain
Assistance from the hand to gain;
So tangled oft, that, bursting through,
Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew,-
That diamond dew, so pure and clear,
It rivals all but Beauty's tear!
THA
At length they came where, stern and steep,
The hill sinks down upon the deep.
Here Vennachar in silver flows,
There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose:
Ever the hollow path twined on,
Beneath steep bank and threatening stone;
A hundred men might hold the post
With hardihood against a host.
The rugged mountain's scanty cloak
Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak,
With shingles bare, and cliffs between,
And patches bright of bracken green,
And heather black, that waved so high
It held the copse in rivalry.
---


## p. 13069 (#503) ##########################################

SIR WALTER SCOTT
13069
But where the lake slept deep and still.
Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill;
And oft both path and hill were torn,
Where wintry torrents down had borne,
And heaped upon the cumbered land
Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand.
So toilsome was the road to trace,
The guide, abating of his pace,
Led slowly through the pass's jaws,
And asked Fitz-James by what strange cause
He sought these wilds? traversed by few,
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.
"Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried,
Hangs in my belt and by my side;
Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said,
"I dreamt not now to claim its aid.
When here, but three days since, I came,
Bewildered in pursuit of game,
All seemed as peaceful and as still
As the mist slumbering on yon hill;
Thy dangerous chief was then afar,
Nor soon expected back from war:
Thus said, at least, my mountain guide,
Though deep perchance the villain lied. "-
"Yet why a second venture try? ” —
"A warrior thou, and ask me why!
Moves our free course by such fixed cause
As gives the poor mechanic laws?
Enough, I sought to drive away
The lazy hours of peaceful day:
Slight cause will then suffice to guide
A knight's free footsteps far and wide,-
A falcon flown, a greyhound strayed,
The merry glance of mountain maid;
Or, if a path be dangerous known,
The danger's self is lure alone. "
«Thy secret keep, I urge thee not;-
Yet, ere again ye sought this spot,
Say, heard ye naught of Lowland war
Against Clan-Alpine, raised by Mar? "-
"No, by my word; - of bands prepared
To guard King James's sports I heard;
-
-


## p. 13070 (#504) ##########################################

13070
SIR WALTER SCOTT
Nor doubt I aught, but when they hear
This muster of the mountaineer,
Their pennons will abroad be flung,
Which else in Doune had peaceful hung. ".
"Free be they flung! -for we were loth
Their silken folds should feast the moth.
Free be they flung! -as free shall wave
Clan-Alpine's pine in banner brave.
But, stranger, peaceful since you came,
Bewildered in the mountain game,
Whence the bold boast by which you show
Vich-Alpine's vowed and mortal foe? ».
"Warrior, but yester-morn I knew
Naught of thy chieftain, Roderick Dhu,
Save as an outlawed desperate man,
The chief of a rebellious clan,
Who, in the Regent's court and sight,
With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight;
Yet this alone might from his part
Sever each true and loyal heart. ”
Wrathful at such arraignment foul,
Dark lowered the clansman's sable scowl.
A space he paused, then sternly said:-
"And heard'st thou why he drew his blade?
Heard'st thou that shameful word and blow
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe?
What recked the chieftain if he stood
On Highland heath, or Holyrood!
He rights such wrong where it is given,
If it were in the court of heaven. ".
"Still was it outrage; - yet, 'tis true,
Not then claimed sovereignty his due;
While Albany, with feeble hand,
Held borrowed truncheon of command,
The young King, mewed in Stirling tower,
Was stranger to respect and power.
But then, thy chieftain's robber life!
Winning mean prey by causeless strife,
Wrenching from ruined Lowland swain
His herds and harvest reared in vain. -
Methinks a soul like thine should scorn
The spoils from such foul foray borne. "


## p. 13071 (#505) ##########################################

SIR WALTER SCOTT
13071
The Gael beheld him grim the while,
And answered with disdainful smile:-
"Saxon, from yonder mountain high,
I marked thee send delighted eye
Far to the south and east, where lay,
Extended in succession gay,
Deep waving fields and pastures green,
With gentle slopes and groves between. —
These fertile plains, that softened vale,
Were once the birthright of the Gael:
The stranger came with iron hand,
And from our fathers reft the land.
Where dwell we now? See rudely swell
Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell.
Ask we this savage hill we tread
For fattened steer or household bread,-
Ask we for flocks these shingles dry,-
And well the mountain might reply:-
To you, as to your sires of yore,
Belong the target and claymore!
I give you shelter in my breast,
Your own good blades must win the rest. '
Pent in this fortress of the North,
Think'st thou we will not sally forth,
To spoil the spoiler as we may,
And from the robber rend the prey?
Ay, by my soul! - While on yon plain
The Saxon rears one shock of grain;
While, of ten thousand herds, there strays
But one along yon river's maze,-
The Gael, of plain and river heir,
Shall with strong hand redeem his share.
Where live the mountain chiefs who hold
That plundering Lowland field and fold
Is aught but retribution true?
Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu. "
-
Answered Fitz-James:- "And if I sought,
Think'st thou no other could be brought?
What deem ye of my path waylaid?
My life given o'er to ambuscade ? »—
"As of a meed to rashness due:
Hadst thou sent warning fair and true,—


## p. 13072 (#506) ##########################################

SIR WALTER SCOTT
13072
'I seek my hound, or falcon strayed,
I seek (good faith) a Highland maid,'-
Free hadst thou been to come and go;
But secret path marks secret foe.
Nor yet, for this, even as a spy,
Hadst thou, unheard, been doomed to die,
Save to fulfill an augury. "—
"Well, let it pass; nor will I now
Fresh cause of enmity avow,
To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow.
Enough, I am by promise tied
To match me with this man of pride:
Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen
In peace; but when I come agen,
I come with banner, brand, and bow,
As leader seeks his mortal foe.
For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower,
Ne'er panted for the appointed hour
As I until before me stand
This rebel chieftain and his band! ".
"Have, then, thy wish! "- He whistled shrill,
And he was answered from the hill;
Wild as the scream of the curlew,
From crag to crag the signal flew.
Instant, through copse and heath, arose
Bonnets, and spears, and bended bows;
On right, on left, above, below,
Sprung up at once the lurking foe;
From shingles gray their lances start,
The bracken bush sends forth the dart,
The rushes and the willow-wand
Are bristling into axe and brand,
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior armed for strife.
That whistle garrisoned the glen
At once with full five hundred men,
As if the yawning hill to heaven
A subterranean host had given.
Watching their leader's beck and will,
All silent there they stood, and still.
Like the loose crags, whose threatening mass
Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass,


## p. 13073 (#507) ##########################################

SIR WALTER SCOTT
XXII-818
As if an infant's touch could urge
Their headlong passage down the verge,
With step and weapon forward flung,
Upon the mountain-side they hung.
The mountaineer cast glance of pride
Along Benledi's living side,
Then fixed his eye and sable brow
Full on Fitz-James: "How sayest thou now?
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true;
And, Saxon,-I am Roderick Dhu! "
Fitz-James was brave. -Though to his heart
The life-blood thrilled with sudden start,
He manned himself with dauntless air,
Returned the chief his haughty stare,
His back against a rock he bore,
And firmly placed his foot before:-
"Come one, come all! this rock shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I. "
Sir Roderick marked; and in his eyes
Respect was mingled with surprise,
And the stern joy which warriors feel
In foemen worthy of their steel.
Short space he stood;- then waved his hand:
Down sunk the disappearing band;
Each warrior vanished where he stood,
In broom or bracken, heath or wood;
Sunk brand, and spear, and bended bow,
In osiers pale and copses low:
It seemed as if their mother Earth
Had swallowed up her warlike birth.
The wind's last breath had tossed in air,
Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair,-
The next but swept a lone hillside,
Where heath and fern were waving wide.
The sun's last glance was glinted back
From spear and glaive, from targe and jack,—
The next, all unreflected, shone
On bracken green and cold gray stone.
13073


## p. 13074 (#508) ##########################################

SIR WALTER SCOTT
13074
SONG: JOCK O' HAZELDEAN
HY weep ye by the tide, ladie?
"WHY Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye sall be his bride.
And ye sall be his bride, ladie,
Sae comely to be seen" -
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
"Now let this willfu' grief be done,
And dry that cheek so pale:
Young Frank is chief of Errington,
And lord of Langley-dale;
His step is first in peaceful ha',
His sword in battle keen "
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
"A chain of gold ye sall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair;
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair:
And you, the foremost o' them a',
Shall ride our forest queen".
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
-
The kirk was decked at morning-tide,
The tapers glimmered fair;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight are there.
They sought her baith by bower and ha'-
The ladie was not seen!
She's o'er the Border, and awa'
Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean.


## p. 13075 (#509) ##########################################

SIR WALTER SCOTT
13075
HIGHLAND SONG: PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU
IBROCH of Donuil Dhu,
Pibroch of Donuil,
Wake thy wild voice anew,
Summon Clan-Conuil.
P
Come away, come away,
Hark to the summons!
Come in your war array,
Gentles and commons.
Come from deep glen and
From mountain so rocky,-
The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlochy.
Come every hill plaid and
True heart that wears one,
Come every steel blade and
Strong hand that bears one.
Leave untended the herd,
The flock without shelter;
Leave the corpse uninterred,
The bride at the altar;
Leave the deer, leave the steer,
Leave nets and barges:
Come with your fighting-gear,
Broadswords and targes.
Come as the winds come when
Forests are rended,
Come as the waves come when
Navies are stranded:
Faster come, faster come,
Faster and faster,
Chief, vassal, page, and groom,
Tenant and master.
Fast they come, fast they come;
See how they gather!
Wide waves the eagle plume,
Blended with heather.
Cast your plaids, draw your blades,
Forward each man set!
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,
Knell for the onset!


## p. 13076 (#510) ##########################################

13076
SIR WALTER SCOTT
NORA'S VOW
Η
EAR what Highland Nora said:—
"The Earlie's son I will not wed,
Should all the race of nature die,
And none be left but he and I.
For all the gold, for all the gear,
And all the lands both far and near,
That ever valor lost or won,
I would not wed the Earlie's son. "
"A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke:
"Are lightly made and lightly broke;
The heather on the mountain's height
Begins to bloom in purple light;
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away
That lustre deep from glen and brae:
Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone,
May blithely wed the Earlie's son. "
"The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast
May barter for the eagle's nest;
The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn,
Ben-Cruaichan fall and crush Kilchurn;
Our kilted clans, when blood is high,
Before their foes may turn and fly:
But I, were all these marvels done,
Would never wed the Earlie's son. »
Still in the water-lily's shade
Her wonted nest the wild-swan made;
Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever,
Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river;
To shun the clash of foeman's steel,
No Highland brogue has turned the heel:
But Nora's heart is lost and won,—
She's wedded to the Earlie's son!
1


## p. 13077 (#511) ##########################################

SIR WALTER SCOTT
13077
THE BALLAD OF THE RED HARLAW›
In The Antiquary›
HE herring loves the merry moonlight,
The mackerel loves the wind,
But the oyster loves the dredging-sang,
For they come of a gentle kind.
THE
Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle,
And listen great and sma',
And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl
That fought on the red Harlaw.
The cronach's cried on Bennachie,
And doun the Don and a',
And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be
For the sair field of Harlaw.
They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,
They hae bridled a hundred black,
With a chafron of steel on each horse's head,
And a good knight upon his back.
They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,
A mile but barely ten,
When Donald came branking down the brae
Wi' twenty thousand men.
Their tartans they were waving wide,
Their glaives were glancing clear,
The pibrochs rung frae side to side,
Would deafen ye to hear.
The great Earl in his stirrup stood,
That Highland host to see.
"Now here a knight that's stout and good
May prove a jeopardie:
"What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay,
That rides beside my reyne,—
Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,
And I were Roland Cheyne?
"To turn the rein were sin and shame,
To fight were wondrous peril,—
What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne,
Were ye Glenallan's Earl! "—


## p. 13078 (#512) ##########################################

13078
SIR WALTER SCOTT
"Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide,
And ye were Roland Cheyne,
The spur should be in my horse's side,
And the bridle upon his mane.
"If they hae twenty thousand blades,
And we twice ten times ten,
Yet they hae but their tartan plaids,
And we are mail-clad men.
"My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude,
As through the moorland fern,—
Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude
Grow cauld for Highland kerne. "
He turned him right and round again,
Said, Scorn na at my mither;
Light loves I may get mony a ane,
But minnie ne'er anither.
SONG: BRIGNALL BANKS
From Rokeby'
Ο
H, BRIGNALL banks are wild and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there
Would grace a summer queen.
And as I rode by Dalton Hall,
Beneath the turrets high,
A maiden on the castle wall
Was singing merrily:-
"Oh, Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green:
I'd rather rove with Edmund there,
Than reign our English queen. ».
“If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me,
To leave both tower and town,
Thou first must guess what life lead we,
That dwell by dale and down.
And if thou canst that riddle read,
As read full well you may,
Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed,
As blithe as Queen of May. "-


## p. 13079 (#513) ##########################################

SIR WALTER SCOTT
13079
Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair,
And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there,
Than reign our English queen.
"I read you, by your bugle-horn,
And by your palfrey good,
I read you for a Ranger sworn,
To keep the king's greenwood. ".
"A Ranger, lady, winds his horn,
And 'tis at peep of light;
His blast is heard at merry morn,
And mine at dead of night. >>
Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair,
And Greta woods are gay:
I would I were with Edmund there,
To reign his Queen of May!
-
"With burnished brand and musketoon,
So gallantly you come,
I read you for a bold Dragoon,
That lists the tuck of drum. ".
"I list no more the tuck of drum,
No more the trumpet hear;
But when the beetle sounds his hum,
My comrades take the spear.
And oh! though Brignall banks be fair,
And Greta woods be gay,
Yet mickle must the maiden dare
Would reign my Queen of May!
"Maiden! a nameless life I lead,
A nameless death I'll die:
The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead,
Were better mate than I!
And when I'm with my comrades met,
Beneath the greenwood bough,
What once we were we all forget,
Nor think what we are now.
Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there
Would grace a summer queen. "


## p. 13080 (#514) ##########################################

13080
SIR WALTER SCOTT
·
BONNY DUNDEE
T
O THE Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke,—
"Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be
broke;
So let each Cavalier who loves honor and me
Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Chorus: - Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle your horses, and call up your men;
Come open the West Port, and let me gang free,
And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee! "
Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street:
The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat;
But the Provost, douce man, said, "Just e'en let him be,—
The gude town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee. "
[Chorus.
As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,
Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow;
But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee,
Thinking, Luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee!
[Chorus.
With sour-featured Whigs the Grass-market* was crammed,
As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged:
There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e,
As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.
[Chorus.
These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears,
And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers;
But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free,
At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
[Chorus.
He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock,
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke:
:-
"Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three,
For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. "
[Chorus.
The Gordon demands of him which way he goes:—
"Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!
Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me,
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
[Chorus.
"There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth;
If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North;
*The place of public execution.


## p. 13081 (#515) ##########################################

SIR WALTER SCOTT
13081
There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three,
Will cry hoigh! for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
"There's brass on the target of barkened bull-hide;
There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside:
The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free,
At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
"Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks,—
Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with the fox;
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee,-
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me! ”
The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust
The bloodless claymore is but reddened with rust;
On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear,
It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.
He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown,
The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on;
Till on Ravelston's cliffs, and on Clermiston's lea,
Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee.
The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse,
Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse!
Be mute every string, and be hushed every tone,
That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown.
[Chorus.
[Chorus.
O high-minded Moray! the exiled, the dear!
In the blush of the dawning the STANDARD uprear!
Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly,
Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh!
[Chorus.
FLORA MAC-IVOR'S SONG
From Waverley'
TH
HERE is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale,
But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael.
A stranger commanded,—it sunk on the land,
It has frozen each heart and benumbed every hand!
[Chorus.
But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past,
The morn on our mountains is dawning at last!
Glenaladale's peaks are illumed with the rays,
And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the blaze.


## p. 13082 (#516) ##########################################

13082
SIR WALTER SCOTT
Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall break,
Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake?
That dawn never beamed on your forefathers' eye
But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die.
O sprung from the kings who in Islay kept state,
Proud chiefs of Clan-Ranald, Glengarry, and Sleat!
Combine like three streams from one mountain of snow,
And resistless in union rush down on the foe.
True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel,
Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish thy steel!
Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold swell,
Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell!
Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail,
Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the gale!
May the race of Clan-Gillian, the fearless and free,
Remember Glenlivat, Harlaw, and Dundee!
Let the clan of Gray Fingon, whose offspring has given
Such heroes to earth, and such martyrs to heaven,
Unite with the race of renowned Rorri More,
To launch the long galley and stretch to the oar!
How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief shall display
The yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of gray!
How the race of wronged Alpine and murdered Glencoe
Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the foe!
Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild boar,
Resume the pure faith of the great Callum-More!
Mac-Niel of the Islands, and Moy of the Lake,
For honor, for freedom, for vengeance awake!
Awake on your hills, on your islands awake,
Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake!
'Tis the bugle-but not for the chase is the call;
'Tis the pibroch's shrill summons - but not to the hall.
'Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death,
When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath;
They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe,
To the march and the muster, the line and the charge.
Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire!
May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire!
Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore!
Or die, like your sires, and endure it no more!


## p. 13083 (#517) ##########################################

13083
AUGUSTIN EUGENE SCRIBE
(1791-1861)
FTER the spirited comedy of Beaumarchais came a lull in
dramatic production in France. The public yawned over
long dull plays, or applauded mediocre work for its cheap
reflection of popular sentiment.
Then Eugène Scribe came to the
rescue, having gradually found out what the public taste craved. He
had learned this through perhaps a dozen failures, when his shrewd
instinct guided him to seize upon vaudeville, and dignify it to the
rank of laugh-provoking comedy. His plot,
as ingeniously contrived as a Chinese puz-
zle, was a frame upon which he hung clever
dialogue, catchy songs, puns, popular allus-
ions, and manifold witticisms.

His first successful vaudeville, 'Une Nuit
du Garde National,' in one act, written in
collaboration with Poirson, another young
author, was played at the Gymnase in 1816,
and was the beginning of Scribe's astonish-
ing popularity.
EUGENE SCRIBE
For about forty years he was the master
playwright of France. He grew more and
more cunning in estimating his audience,
flattering their foibles, and reflecting con-
temporary interests. He was strictly unmoral, and offered no prob-
lems. His light frothy humor required no mental effort; he diverted
without fatiguing. So Paris loved Scribe, paid him a fortune, made
him a great social as well as literary light, and in 1836 admitted him
to the Academy. From his father, a prosperous silk merchant in
Paris, where he himself was born in 1791, he inherited decided busi-
ness talent. Perhaps no author has ever received fuller measure of
pecuniary success.
Wonderful tales are told of his intuitive comprehension of dramatic
possibilities. One day 'La Chanoinesse,' a dull five-act tragedy, was
read to him. Before the end had been reached, his mind had the
plot transformed into a witty one-act burlesque. He was less invent-
ive than skillful at adaptation, so he often borrowed ideas from
more fertile and less executive brains. For these, Scribe, always the


## p. 13084 (#518) ##########################################

13084
AUGUSTIN EUGÈNE SCRIBE
honorable business man, gave due credit.
So it is said that many a
poverty-stricken writer was surprised to be claimed as collaborator by
the great M. Scribe, and to receive generous payment for ideas which
in their changed form he could hardly recognize as his own.
After 1840 Scribe partially deserted the clever buffoonery of his
vaudeville, and attempted serious five-act dramas. Of these, two of
the best 'Adrienne Lecouvreur' and 'La Bataille des Dames' (The
Ladies' Battle) were written with Legouvé; and in translation are
familiar to American playgoers.
-
Scribe turned his hand to most kinds of composition. He wrote
several volumes of charming tales. He was especially skillful in the
composition of librettos for the operas of Verdi, Auber, Meyerbeer,
and other composers. He was remarkably prolific, and about four
hundred pieces are included in the published list of his works; from
which, however, many waifs and strays of his talent are omitted.
Although most of his plays, once so cordially liked, are now obso-
lete, Scribe has a lasting claim to remembrance in that his mastery
of stage technique guided greater dramatists than himself to more
effective expression. Perhaps no one ever lived with a stronger
sense of scenic requirements. His plays could not drag. Although
often superficial in his effort to sketch lightly contemporary life, and
in his preoccupation with every-day general human interests, Scribe
anticipated the drama of realism.
MERLIN'S PET FAIRY
O
NE night, Merlin, sad and dreamy, was gazing over the im-
mensity of heaven. He thought he heard a light sound
below him. A frightful tempest was upheaving the ocean.
The waves, piled mountain high, scattered salt water to the skies.
Merlin went higher to avoid a wetting; and by the light of the
stars he saw, like an imperceptible point on the summit of the
waves, a vessel about to sink. There was service to render, suf-
fering to relieve. Merlin forgot his dreams and darted forth,
but too late. Pitiless fate anticipated him; and the ship, dashed
against the cliffs, was flying in a thousand pieces.
All the passengers had perished except one woman, who was
still struggling. She held a little daughter in her arms whom
she tried to save.
"Protecting angels," she cried, "save her! watch over her! "
When her strength deserted her she disappeared, just as Mer-
lin descended from the clouds and touched the surface of the


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water. He heard the poor mother's last words, caught up her
child, and bore it back to the skies.
He warmed the little creature's chilled limbs in his hands.
Was she still breathing? In doubt, he recalled her to life or gave
her a new one by means of his magic power, with a ray of dawn'
and a drop of dew. Then Merlin gazed at the poor child with
delighted eyes.
"You shall be a fairy," he said to her. "You shall be my
pet fairy. The misfortune and death which presided over your
birth can never thenceforth touch you. "
The baby opened her eyes and smiled at him, and Merlin
carried his treasure to his crystal and flowery palace in the
clouds.
The young fairy was charming, and Merlin wished to endow
her with all gifts, all talents, all virtues. He gave her the heart
which loves and is loved; the mind which pleases and amuses
others, and the grace which always charms.
He gave her his own power (without making her his equal,
however), with only one condition: that she should love him,
and prefer him to all the sylphs and heavenly spirits, however
beautiful, who shone in Ginnistan. Mighty Alaciel, the supreme
genie presiding over this empire, loved the enchanter Merlin, and
consented to all his desires. All that he asked for the young
fairy was granted and immutably ratified by destiny.
Never had Merlin been more happy than while pretty Vivian
was growing up under his eyes. That was the name he had
given her, the name which was to make her immortal; for never
has love been more celebrated than that of the enchanter Mer-
lin for the fairy Vivian. All legends tell of it, all chronicles
attest it, and traces of it are still preserved on the walls of old
monuments.
Merlin had no other delight than in Vivian; and she knew no
joy apart from her benefactor. Although still very young, the
wit and intelligence with which she was endowed soon taught
her to appreciate his worth and all that she owed to him. Full
of gratitude for his goodness and admiration for his talents, she
listened to his lessons with an avidity and pleasure which flat-
tered the scholar's self-love; while, gracious and attentive, her
cares for. him delighted the old man's heart.
So she could not be separated from him, but accompanied
him in all his journeys and investigations, and shared all his


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labors, which were pleasures for her. She loved to soar through
space with him, admiring far off the stars, whose revolutions and
movements in heaven he explained to her; then redescending
toward earth, both invisible, they would hover over castles and
cottages, inspiring noble lords with kind thoughts for their vas-
sals, and bearing hope and consolation to the vassals. In sleep
they showed the poor mother her absent son; to the young girl
her lover; to all they sent golden dreams which later were real-
ized. Do you see that pilgrim worn out with heat and fatigue
sleeping under an elm on the wayside? He wakes consumed with
hunger and burning thirst, and sees over his head a bough loaded
with superb pears. O surprise! Where did this tree which he
had not noticed before, come from? Or rather, what changed
the sterile young elm into a fruit-tree during his sleep?
It was
Vivian!
And that young girl, how unhappy she is! Sitting on the
bank of a stream, she weeps and mourns! She had a gold cross,
her only ornament, her riches! Taking it off to clean it or look
at it, she has let it fall to the bottom of the deep water. Lost!
lost forever! And just then she feels around her neck a wet
ribbon, which an invisible hand has replaced; and at the end of
the ribbon shines the gold cross, which she thought never to see
again. The little fairy has plunged under the waves and brought
it back.
Another time a poor tenant, torn from his family, is being
dragged to prison because he owes a pitiless master ten crowns
rent, which he has not been able to pay! And suddenly his
sobbing wife, who accompanies him, finds in her apron pocket
twenty bright gold crowns which she does not remember ever
putting there! Who slipped them there? Vivian's little hand!
Oh, kind pleasant fairy, delighting in the good she does-and
Merlin still happier at seeing her do it!
Months and years succeeded each other. Fairies grow quickly.
Their beauty need not fear to ripen, as it is to endure always!
Nothing more charming than Vivian ever shone in Ginnistan.
Her pretty blonde hair, her blue eyes reflecting the sky, her
dainty figure, light and airy, her quick smile, set her above other
fairies.
As to character, hers was charming and impossible to define.
She was both reasonable and frivolous, equally serious over feasts
and toilets, good works and pretty dresses; knowing a great


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deal, and as amusing as if she knew nothing. Coquettish in
mind but not in heart, gracious and good, laughing and mis-
chievous, above all kind and beloved by every one,-such was
Vivian. With a word or a smile she triumphed over all resist-
ance, overturned all obstacles; and when her pretty little hand
caressed Merlin's white beard, the great enchanter could refuse
her nothing. Far more, he exercised all his art to discover her
tastes and anticipate her wishes! To him science had no longer
any end but that of creating pleasures for Vivian.
Thus, anticipating by magic the genius of future ages, he
devised wonders for her which we think we have discovered since
then, but which we have only refound. Our new inventions are
only copies, more or less able, of all Merlin's secrets. Among
them were prodigies compared with which those of steam are
only child's play,- the art of traversing air and directing one's
course at will on a cloud or winged dragon, and a thousand
other sorceries which we do not know yet.
Not content with creating palaces and aerial gardens for Viv-
ian, to please her he descended to the least details. Our pret-
tiest-I mean oddest - fashions, our most coquettish jewels, our
most precious fabrics, were then invented for her. Her crystal
palace was lighted by a thousand magical fires, which since we
have learned to call gas or electric light.
Within this palace he had raised a fairy temple, which many
centuries later we thought to invent under the name of Opera!
In rooms enriched with gold and velvet, Vivian and the court of
Ginnistan gave themselves to noble pleasures. Dancing and
music exerted all their allurements. There were delicious songs
still unknown to earth, which later Merlin revealed to Gluck, Mo-
zart, Rossini, Auber, Meyerbeer, unless indeed these stole them.
for themselves from heaven.
Thus Merlin watched over the amusements of his young fairy,
and still more over the happiness of her every minute; for he
had taught her never to be idle. Under her skillful fingers the
brush or the needle created little masterpieces, so perfect and
elegant that they gave rise to the expression "to work like the
fairies"!
And note that before Vivian, fairies did nothing. Their only
diversion was to busy themselves with love affairs or intrigues
on earth. Their home was most monotonous, and they did not
know what to do with themselves in heaven. There, as in all


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courts of any rank, the receptions and companies almost killed
one with their dullness. Drawn up in a circle on feast days,
the fairies gazed upon each other in fixed beauty, which they
did not have even the fear of losing or seeing change.
As to the sylphs and genii who stood behind them, they too
yawned in their immortality. Judge then how they appreciated
the presentation to court of a witty, amiable, vivacious fairy.
She turned all heads, and drew all attention. They knew the
distractions of love; and the genii thought it would be delightful
to rob the old enchanter of the charming young girl he was
guarding.
One morning in Merlin's absence, Vivian found a satiny little
note on her dressing-table, containing a declaration of love,
signed Zelindor. Zelindor was the handsomest and most foppish
of all the genii. In manner and bearing, in his least actions,
he concerned himself with only one thing,- to know if he was
admired; and his eyes, which were superb, seemed to have been
given him only to see whether or not he was being noticed.
That evening Vivian found in her work-basket a dozen other
little satiny papers.
As soon as Merlin returned, she carried him the whole col-
lection. The indignant enchanter wanted to rage.
"Read them first," she said.
He read, and then tremblingly asked what she thought of all
these demonstrations of affection.
"I think," she answered, "that they are very badly written. "
«< They say nothing to your heart? "
"Nothing. "
Merlin wore two rings on his left hand. One was an emer-
ald: when he took it off his finger and held it to his mouth, he
ceased to be invisible, and appeared under his true form to mor-
tal eyes. The other, more useful and more to be feared, was of
a single ruby. With this ring he could read hearts, and see
what every one was thinking.
He seized this ring, regarded it attentively, and was soon
convinced that Vivian had spoken the truth.
"Yes! yes! " he cried. "You are indifferent to Zelindor and
all the other sylphs, and prefer me. "
"Ah! that's unkind! " cried Vivian interrupting him, "very
unkind! "
"To convince myself of your friendship? "


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"No! But to surprise the secrets that I want to have the
pleasure of telling you. "
"Ah! you are charming! " cried Merlin, transported with joy.
"So you love me, then? "
"Aren't you my friend, my benefactor, my father, to whom I
owe everything? "
"Yes,—it is true," said the enchanter, only half satisfied: "and
I love you too, Vivian, ardently, passionately; and that is the
way I want you to love me. ”
"I don't understand," said Vivian. "I prefer you to all
whom I see or hear,-to all who are about us. "
"Yes," said Merlin to himself, "that is just what I once
asked from Alaciel, and which he has granted. But," he said,
speaking out loud without meaning to do so, "I made a great
mistake in not asking more. "
"And what more do you want? " she asked with an affection-
ate smile.
"When you are with me, does your heart beat more quickly? »
་
"No," answered Vivian in a pure, candid voice.
"And yet you love me a little ? "
"Better than all the world. "
"And you consent, dear child, to be mine? »
"Yes. "
Merlin kissed the fresh rosy cheek of the young fairy, and
trembling with emotion, let himself fall into a chair, gazing after
Vivian as she bounded away and disappeared behind the clumps
of lilacs.
THE PRICE OF LIFE
J
OSEPH, opening the parlor door, came to tell us the post-chaise
was ready. My mother and sister threw themselves in my
arms.
"It is not too late," they said. "Give up this journey. Stay
with us. "
«<< Mother, I am a gentleman; I am twenty years old; I must
have a name in the country. I must make my way, either in
the army or at court. "
"And when you are gone, what will become of me, Bernard ? »
"You will be happy and proud to hear of your son's success. "
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"And if you are killed in some battle? "
"What matters it? What is life? Does a man think of
that? When a man is twenty and a gentleman, he thinks only
of glory. In a few years, mother, I'll come back a colonel, or
marshal, or else with a fine office at Versailles. "
"Ah well! what will come of it if you do? "
"I shall be respected and thought much of. ”
"What then? "
"Then every one will salute me. "
"And then? ”
"Then I will wed my cousin Henrietta, and settle my young
sisters in marriage, and we will all live with you, tranquil and
happy in my Bretagne domain. "
"And why can't you begin to-day? Didn't your father leave
us the finest fortune in the country? Is there a richer domain
for ten leagues around, or a finer castle than Roche-Bernard?
Do not your vassals respect you? As you go through the village,
does any one fail to take off his hat? Don't leave us, my son!
Stay with your friends, your sisters, and your old mother who
may not be here when you come back. Don't squander in vain-
glory, or shorten by all kinds of cares and torments, the days that
roll so fast anyway. Life is so sweet, my boy, and the sun of
Bretagne so glorious! "
While speaking, she pointed through the windows at the
pretty paths of my park, the old chestnut-trees in blossom, the
lilacs and honeysuckles which perfumed the air.