No More Learning

And this was the cause and reason why the acolytes of Santa
María de la Cabéza first, all the boys of the town afterward, and
finally the more respectable and sedate persons, bestowed on
Manuel the extraordinary name of “The Child of the Ball”: we
know not whether by way of applause of such vehement idolatry,
and to commit him, as it were, to the protection of the Christ-
Child himself; or as a sarcastic antiphrasis, - seeing that this
appellation is sometimes used in the place as a term of compar-
ison for the happiness of the very fortunate; or as a prophecy
of the valor for which the son of Venegas was to be one day
celebrated, and the terror he was to inspire,— since the most
hyperbolical expression that can be employed in that district, to
extol the bravery and power of any one, is to say that “he does
not fear even the Child of the Ball. ) »
Selections used by permission of Cassell Publishing Company


## p. 268 (#298) ############################################

268
ALCÆUS
(Sixth Century B. C. )
was
LCÆUS, a contemporary of the more famous poet whom he
addressed as "violet-crowned, pure, sweetly-smiling Sappho,
was a native of Mitylene in Lesbos. His period of work
fell probably between 610 and 580 B. C. At this time his native
town was disturbed by an unceasing contention for power between
the aristocracy and the people; and Al-
cæus, through the vehemence of his zeal
and his ambition, was among the leaders
of the warring faction. By the accidents
of birth and education he was an aristo-
crat, and in politics he was what is now
called a High Tory. With his brothers,
Cicis and Antimenidas, two influential
young nobles as arrogant and haughty
as himself, he resented and opposed the
slightest concession to democracy. He
a stout soldier, but he threw away
his arms at Ligetum when he saw that
ALCÆUS
his side was beaten, and afterward wrote
a poem on this performance, apparently not in the least mortified by
the recollection. Horace speaks of the matter, and laughingly con-
fesses his own like misadventure.
When the kindly Pittacus was chosen dictator, he was compelled
to banish the swashbuckling brothers for their abuse of him. But
when Alcæus chanced to be taken prisoner, Pittacus set him free,
remarking that «forgiveness is better than revenge. ” The irrecon-
cilable poet spent his exile in Egypt, and there he may have seen
the Greek oligarch who lent his sword to Nebuchadnezzar, and whom
he greeted in a poem, a surviving fragment of which is thus para-
phrased by John Addington Symonds:-
From the ends of the earth thou art come,
Back to thy home;
The ivory bilt of thy blade
With gold is embossed and inlaid ;
Since for Babylon's host a great deed
Thou didst work in their need,
Slaying a warrior, an athlete of might,
Royal, whose height
Lacked of five cubits one span
A terrible man.



## p. 269 (#299) ############################################

ALCÆUS
269
Alcæus is reputed to have been in love with Sappho, the glorious,
but only a line or two survives to confirm the tale. Most of his
lyrics, like those of his fellow-poets, seem to have been drinking
songs, combined, says Symonds, with reflections upon life, and
appropriate descriptions of the different seasons. «No time was
amiss for drinking, to his mind: the heat of summer, the cold of
winter, the blazing dog-star and the driving tempest, twilight with
its cheerful gleam of lamps, mid-day with its sunshine -all suggest
reasons for indulging in the cup. Not that we are justified in
fancying Alcæus a mere vulgar toper: he retained Æolian sumptu-
ousness in his pleasures, and raised the art of drinking to an æsthetic
attitude. ”
Alcæus composed in the Æolic dialect; for the reason, it is said,
that it was more familiar to his hearers. After his death his poems
were collected and divided into ten books. Bergk has included the
fragmentsand one of his compositions has come down to us entire
- in his Poetæ Lyrici Græci. '
His love of political strife and military glory led him to the
composition of a class of poems which the ancients called “Stasiotica'
(Songs of Sedition). To this class belong his descriptions of the
furnishing of his palace, and many of the fragments preserved to us.
Besides those martial poems, he composed hymns to the gods, and
love and convivial songs.
His verses are subjective and impassioned. They are outbursts of
the poet's own feeling, his own peculiar expression toward the world
in which he lived; and it is this quality that gave them their
strength and their celebrity. His metres were lively, and the care
which he expended upon his strophes has led to the naming of one
metre the Alcaic. " Horace testifies (Odes ii. 13. ii. 26, etc. ), to the
power of his master.
The first selection following is a fragment from his "Stasiotica.
It is a description of the splendor of his palace before «the work
of war began. ”
THE PALACE
Fs
ROM roof to roof the spacious palace halls
Glitter with war's array;
With burnished metal clad, the lofty walls
Beam like the bright noonday.
There white-plumed helmets hang from many a nail,
Above, in threatening row;
Steel-garnished tunics and broad coats of mail
Spread o'er the space below.


## p. 270 (#300) ############################################

270
ALCÆUS
Chalcidian blades enow, and belts are here,
Greaves and emblazoned shields;
Well-tried protectors from the hostile spear,
On other battlefields.
With these good helps our work of war's begun,
With these our victory must be won.
Translation of Colonel Mure.
A BANQUET SONG
T"
He rain of Zeus descends, and from high heaven
A storm is driven:
And on the running water-brooks the cold
Lays icy hold;
Then up: beat down the winter; make the fire
Blaze high and higher;
Mix wine as sweet as honey of the bee
Abundantly:
Then drink with comfortable wool around
Your temples bound.
We must not yield our hearts to woe, or wear
With wasting care;
For grief will profit us no whit, my friend,
Nor nothing mend;
But this is our best medicine, with wine fraught
To cast out thought.
Translation of J. A. Symonds.
AN INVITATION
W"
Hy wait we for the torches' lights ?
Now let us drink while day invites.
In mighty flagons hither bring
The deep-red blood of many a vine,
That we may largely quaff, and sing
The praises of the god of wine,
The son of Jove and Semele,
Who gave the jocund grape to be
A sweet oblivion to our woes.
Fill, fill the goblet- one and two:
Let every brimmer, as it flows,
In sportive chase, the last pursue.
Translation of Sir William Jones.


## p. 271 (#301) ############################################

ALCÆUS
271
THE STORM
N°"
ow here, now there, the wild waves sweep,
Whilst we, betwixt them o'er the deep,
In shatter'd tempest-beaten bark,
With laboring ropes are onward driven,
The billows dashing o'er our dark
Upheavèd deck -- in tatters riven
Our sails — whose yawning rents between
The raging sea and sky are seen.
Loose from their hold our anchors burst,
And then the third, the fatal wave
Comes rolling onward like the first,
And doubles all our toil to save.
Translation of Sir William Jones.
THE POOR FISHERMAN
TH
HE fisher Diotimus had, at sea
And shore, the same abode of poverty -
His trusty boat;— and when his days were spent,
Therein self-rowed to ruthless Dis he went;
For that, which did through life his woes beguile,
Supplied the old man with a funeral pile.
Translation of Sir William Jones.
THE STATE
W**
HAT constitutes a State ?
Not high-raised battlement, or labored mound,
Thick wall or moated gate;
Not cities fair, with spires and turrets crown'd;
No:- Men, high-minded men,
With powers as far above dull brutes endued
In forest, brake or den,
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude: -
Men who their duties know,
But know their rights, and knowing, dare maintain;
Prevent the long-aimed blow,
And crush the tyrant, while they rend the chain.
Translation of Sir William Jones.


## p. 272 (#302) ############################################

272
BALTÁZAR DE ALCÁZAR
POVERTY
TH
HE worst of ills, and hardest to endure,
Past hope, past cure,
Is Penury, who, with her sister-mate
Disorder, soon brings down the loftiest state,
And makes it desolate.
This truth the sage of Sparta told,
Aristodemus old, -
<< Wealth makes the man. ” On him that's poor,
Proud worth looks down, and honor shuts the door.
Translation of Sir William Jones.
BALTÁZAR DE ALCÁZAR
(1530 ? -1606)
LTHOUGH little may be realized now of Alcázar's shadowy per-
sonality, there is no doubt that in his own century he was
widely read. Born of a very respectable family in Seville,
either in 1530 or 1531, he first appears as entering the Spanish navy,
and participating in several battles on the war galleys of the Mar-
quis of Santa Cruz. It is known that for about twenty years he
was alcalde or mayor at the Molares on the outskirts of Utrera -
an important local functionary, a practical man interested in public
affairs.
But, on the whole, his seems to have been a strongly artistic
nature; for he was a musician of repute, skillful too at painting, and
above all a poet. As master and model in metrical composition he
chose Martial, and in his epigrammatic turn he is akin to the great
Latin poet. He was fond of experimenting in Latin lyrical forms,
and wrote many madrigals and sonnets. They are full of vigorous
thought and bright satire, of playful malice and epicurean joy in life,
and have always won the admiration of his fellow-poets. As has
been said, they show a fine taste, quite in advance of the age.
Cervantes, his greater contemporary, acknowledged his power with
cordial praise in the Canto de Caliope.
The witty Andalusian” did not write voluminously. Some of his
poems still remain in manuscript only. Of the rest, comprised in one
small volume, perhaps the best known are (The Jovial Supper,'
(The Echo,' and the Counsel to a Widow. '


## p. 273 (#303) ############################################

BALTAZAR DE ALCÁZAR
273
SLEEP
S"
LEEP is no servant of the will,
It has caprices of its own:
When most pursued, — 'tis swiftly gone;
When courted least, it lingers still.
With its vagaries long perplext,
I turned and turned my restless sconce,
Till one bright night, I thought at once
I'd master it; so hear my text!
When sleep will tarry, I begin
My long and my accustomed prayer;
And in a twinkling sleep is there,
Through my bed-curtains peeping in.
When sleep hangs heavy on my eyes,
I think of debts I fain would pay;
And then, as flies night's shade from day,
Sleep from my heavy eyelids flies.
And thus controlled the winged one bends
Ev'n his fantastic will to me;
And, strange, yet true, both I and he
Are friends, the very best of friends.
We are a happy wedded pair,
And I the lord and she the dame;
Our bed- our board our hours the same,
And we're united everywhere.
I'll tell you where I learnt to school
This wayward sleep:- a whispered word
From a church-going hag I heard,
And tried it — for I was no fool.
So from that very hour I knew
That having ready prayers to pray,
And having many debts to pay,
Will serve for sleep and waking too.
From Longfellow's (Poets of Europe): by permission of Houghton, Mifflin and
Company
THE JOVIAL SUPPER
N JAEN, where I reside,
Lives Don Lopez de Sosa;
And I will tell thee, Isabel, a thing
The most daring that thou hast heard of him.
I
1-18


## p. 274 (#304) ############################################

274
BALTAZAR DE ALCÁZAR
This gentleman had
A Portuguese serving man
However, if it appears well to you, Isabel,
Let us first take supper.
We have the table ready laid,
As we have to sup together;
The wine-cups at their stations
Are only wanting to begin the feast.
Let us commence with new, light wine,
And cast upon it benediction;
I consider it a matter of devotion
To sign with cross that which I drink.
Be it or not a modern invention,
By the living God I do not know;
But most exquisite was
The invention of the tavern.
Because, I arrive thirsty there,
I ask for new-made wine,
They mix it, give it to me, I drink,
I pay for it, and depart contented.
That, Isabel, is praise of itself,
It is not necessary to laud it.
I have only one fault to find with it,
That is — it is finished with too much haste.
But say, dost thou not adore and prize
The illustrious and rich black pudding ?
How the rogue tickles!
It must contain spices.
How it is stuffed with pine nuts!
But listen to a subtle hint.
You did not put a lamp there?
How is it that I appear to see two?
But these are foolish questions,
Already know I what it must be:
It is by this black draught
That the number of lamps accumulates.
[The several courses are ended, and the jovial diner resolves to finish his
story. ]
And now, Isabel, as we have supped
So well, and with so much enjoyment,


## p. 275 (#305) ############################################

ALCIPHRON
275
It appears to be but right
To return to the promised tale.
But thou must know, Sister Isabel,
That the Portuguese fell sick
Eleven o'clock strikes, I go to sleep.
Wait for the morrow.
.
ALCIPHRON
(Second Century A. D. )
BY HARRY THURSTON PECK
N THE history of Greek prose fiction the possibilities of the
epistolary form were first developed by the Athenian teacher
of rhetoric, Alciphron, of whose life and personality noth-
ing is known except that he lived in the second century A. D. ,-a
contemporary of the great satirical genius Lucian. Of his writings
we now possess only a collection of imaginary letters, one hundred
and eighteen in number, arranged in three books. Their value
depends partly upon the curious and interesting pictures given in
them of the life of the post-Alexandrine period, especially of the
low life, and partly upon the fact that they are the first successful
attempts at character-drawing to be found in the history of Greek
prose fiction. They form a connecting link between the novel of
pure incident and adventure, and the more fully developed novel
which combines incident and adventure with the delineation of char-
acter and the study of motive. The use of the epistolary form in
fictitious composition did not, to be sure, originate with Alciphron;
for we find earlier instances in the imaginary love-letters composed
in verse by the Roman poet, Ovid, under the names of famous
women of early legend, such as those of Enone to Paris (which
suggested a beautiful poem of Tennyson's), Medea to Jason, and
many others. In these one finds keen insight into character, espe-
cially feminine character, together with much that is exquisite in
fancy and tender in expression. But it is to Alciphron that we owe
the adaptation of this form of composition to prose fiction, and its
employment in a far wider range of psychological and social obser-
vation.
The life whose details are given us by Alciphron is the life of
contemporary Athens in the persons of its easy-going population.
The writers whose letters we
we are supposed to read in reading
Alciphron are peasants, fishermen, parasites, men-about-town, and


## p. 276 (#306) ############################################

276
ALCIPHRON
courtesans. The language of the letters is neat, pointed, and appro-
priate to the person who in each case is supposed to be the writer;
and the details are managed with considerable art. Alciphron effaces
all impression of his own personality, and is lost in the characters
who for the time being occupy his pages. One reads the letters as
he would read a genuine correspondence. The illusion is perfect,
and we feel that we are for the moment in the Athens of the third
century before Christ; that we are strolling in its streets, visiting its
shops, its courts, and its temples, and that we are getting a whiff of
the Ægean, mingled with the less savory odors of the markets and
of the wine-shops.
We stroll about the city elbowing our way
through the throng of boatmen, merchants, and hucksters. Here a
barber stands outside his shop and solicits custom; there an old
usurer with pimply face sits bending over his accounts in a dingy
little office; at the corner of the street a crowd encircles some Cheap
Jack who is showing off his juggling tricks at a small three-legged
table, making sea-shells vanish out of sight and then taking them
from his mouth. Drunken soldiers pass and repass, talking bois-
terously of their bouts and brawls, of their drills and punishments,
and the latest news of their barracks, and forming a striking contrast
to the philosopher, who, in coarse robes, moves with supercilious
look and an affectation of deep thought, in silence amid the crowd
that jostles him. The scene is vivid, striking, realistic.
Many of the letters are from women; and in these, especially,
Alciphron reveals the daily life of the Athenians. We see the demi-
monde at their toilet, with their mirrors, their powders, their
enamels and rouge-pots, their brushes and pincers, and all the
thousand and one accessories. Acquaintances come in to make a
morning call, and we hear their chatter, Thaïs and Megara and
Bacchis, Hermione and Myrrha. They nibble cakes, drink sweet
wine, gossip about their respective lovers, hum the latest songs,
and enjoy themselves with perfect abandon. Again we see them
at their evening rendezvous, at the banquets where philosophers,
poets, sophists, painters, artists of every sort, - in fact, the whole
Bohemia of Athens, - gather round them. We get hints of all the
stages of the revel, from the sparkling wit and the jolly good-
fellowship of the early evening, to the sodden disgust that comes
with daybreak when the lamps are poisoning the fetid air and the
remnants of the feast are stale.
We are not to look upon the letters of Alciphron as embodying a
literary unity. He did not attempt to write one single symmetrical
epistolary romance; but the individual letters are usually slight
sketches of character carelessly gathered together, and deriving
their greatest charm from their apparent spontaneity and artlessness.


## p. 277 (#307) ############################################

ALCIPHRON
277
Many of them are, to be sure, unpleasantly cynical, and depict the
baser side of human nature; others, in their realism, are essentially
commonplace; but some are very prettily expressed, and show a
brighter side to the picture of contemporary life. Those especially
which are supposed to pass between Menander, the famous comic
poet, and his mistress Glycera, form a pleasing contrast to the greed
and cynicism of much that one finds in the first book of the epistles;
they are true love-letters, and are untainted by the slightest sug-
gestion of the mercenary spirit or the veiled coarseness that makes
so many of the others unpleasant reading. One letter (i. 6) is
interesting as containing the first allusion found in literature to the
familiar story of Phryne before the judges, which is more fully told
in Athenæus.
The imaginary letter was destined to play an important part in
the subsequent history of literature. Alciphron was copied by
Aristænetus, who lived in the fifth century of our era, and whose
letters have been often imitated in modern times, and by Theophy-
lactus, who lived in the seventh century. In modern English fiction
the epistolary form has been most successfully employed by Rich-
ardson, Fanny Burney, and, in another genre, by Wilkie Collins.
The standard editions of Alciphron are those of Seiler (Leipzig,
1856) and of Hercher (Paris, 1873), the latter containing the Greek
text with a parallel version in Latin. The letters have not yet been
translated into English. The reader may refer to the chapter on
Alciphron in the recently published work of Salverte, Le Roman
dans la Grèce Ancienne' (The Novel in Ancient Greece: Paris,
1893). The following selections are translated by the present writer.
H. J. Peck
(
FROM A MERCENARY GIRL
PETALA
TO
SIMALION
Welshould be;" for you are generous enough with them, any-
for me.
a girl , a I
.
how! Unfortunately, however, that isn't quite enough
I need money; I must have jewels, clothes, servants,
and all that sort of thing. Nobody has left me a fortune, I
should like you to know, or any mining stock; and so I am
obliged to depend on the little presents that gentlemen happen
to make me. Now that I've known you a year, how much better


## p. 278 (#308) ############################################

278
ALCIPHRON
off am I for it, I should like to ask ? My head looks like a
fright because I haven't had anything to rig it out with, all that
time; and as to clothes, - why, the only dress I've got in the
world is in rags that make me ashamed to be seen with my
friends: and yet you imagine that I can go on in this way with-
out having any other means of living! Oh, yes, of course, you
cry; but you'll stop presently. I'm really surprised at the num-
ber of your tears; but really, unless somebody gives me some-
thing pretty soon I shall die of starvation. Of course, you
pretend you're just crazy for me, and that you can't live without
me. Well, then, isn't there any family silver in your house ?
Hasn't your mother any jewelry that you can get hold of?
Hasn't your father any valuables ? Other girls are luckier than
I am; for I have a mourner rather than a lover. He sends me
crowns, and he sends me garlands and roses, as if I were dead
and buried before my time, and he says that he cries all night.
Now, if you can manage to scrape up something for me, you can
come here without having to cry your eyes out; but if you can't,
why, keep your tears to yourself, and don't bother me!
From the (Epistolæ,' i. 36.
THE PLEASURES OF ATHENS
EUTHY DICUS TO EPIPHANIO
Y ALL the gods and demons, I beg you, dear mother, to leave
B' , ,
discover what beautiful things there are in town. Just think
what you are losing,— the Haloan Festival and the Apaturian
Festival, and the Great Festival of Bacchus, and especially the
Thesmophorian Festival, which is now going on. If you would
only hurry up, and get here to-morrow morning before it is day.
light, you would be able to take part in the affair with the other
Athenian women. Do come, and don't put it off, if you have
any regard for my happiness and my brothers'; for it's an awful
thing to die without having any knowledge of the city. That's
the life of an ox; and one that is altogether unreasonable. Please
excuse me, mother, for speaking so freely for your own good.
After all, one ought to speak plainly with everybody, and espe-
cially with those who are themselves plain speakers.
From the Epistolæ,' iii. 39.


## p. 279 (#309) ############################################

ALCIPHRON
279
FROM AN ANXIOUS MOTHER
PHYLLIS TO THRASONIDES
I
You only would put up with the country and be sensible,
and do as the rest of us do, my dear Thrasonides, you would
offer ivy and laurel and myrtle and flowers to the gods at
the proper time; and to us, your parents, you would give wheat
and wine and a milk-pail full of the new goat's-milk.
But as
things are, you despise the country and farming, and are fond
only of the helmet-plumes and the shield, just as if you were an
Acarnanian or a Malian soldier. Don't keep on in this way, my
son; but come back to us and take up this peaceful life of ours
again (for farming is perfectly safe and free from any danger,
and doesn't require bands of soldiers and strategy and squad-
rons), and be the stay of our old age, preferring a safe life to a
risky one.
From the Epistolæ,' iii. 16.
FROM A CURIOUS YOUTH
PHILOCOMUS TO THESTYLUS
SO
INCE I have never yet been to town, and really don't know at
all what the thing is that they call a city, I am awfully anx-
ious to see this strange sight, - men living all in one place, -
and to learn about the other points in which a city differs from
the country. Consequently, if you have any reason for going to
town, do come and take me with you. As a matter of fact, I am
sure there are lots of things I ought to know, now that my beard
is beginning to sprout; and who is so able to show me the city
as yourself, who are all the time going back and forth to the
town?
From the Epistolæ,' iii. 31.
FROM A PROFESSIONAL DINER-OUT
CAPNOSPHRANTES TO ARISTOMACHUS
I
SHOULD like to ask my evil genius, who drew me by lot as his
own particular charge, why he is so malignant and so cruel
as to keep me in everlasting poverty; for if no one happens
to invite me to dinner I have to live on greens, and to eat acorns
and to fill my stomach with water from the hydrant. Now, as


## p. 280 (#310) ############################################

280
ALCIPHRON
long as my body was able to put up with this sort of thing, and
my time of life was such as made it proper for me to bear it, I
could get along with them fairly well; but now that my hair is
growing gray, and the only outlook I have is in the direction of
old age, what on earth am I going to do? I shall really have to
get a rope and hang myself unless my luck changes. However,
even if fortune remains as it is, I shan't string myself up before
I have at least one square meal; for before very long, the wed-
ding of Charitus and Leocritis, which is going to be a famous
affair, will come off, to which there isn't a doubt that I shall be
invited,-either to the wedding itself or to the banquet after-
ward.
It's lucky that weddings need the jokes of brisk fellows
like myself, and that without us they would be as dull as gather-
ings of pigs rather than of human beings!
From the Epistolæ,' iii. 49.
UNLUCKY LUCK
CHYTROLICTES TO PATELLOCHARON
Peran
ERHAPS you would like to know why I am complaining so,
and how I got my head broken, and why I'm going around
with my clothes in tatters. The fact is I swept the board at
gambling: but I wish I hadn't; for what's the sense in a feeble
fellow like me running up against a lot of stout young men ?
You see, after I scooped in all the money they put up, and they
hadn't a cent left, they all jumped on my neck, and some of
them punched me, and some of them stoned me, and some of
them tore my clothes off my back. All the same, I hung on to
the money as hard as I could, because I would rather die than
give up anything of theirs I had got hold of; and so I held out
bravely for quite a while, not giving in when they struck me, or
even when they bent my fingers back. In fact, I was like some
Spartan who lets himself be whipped as a test of his endurance:
but unfortunately it wasn't at Sparta that I was doing this thing,
but at Athens, and with the toughest sort of an Athenian gam-
bling crowd; and so at last, when actually fainting, I had to let
the ruffians rob me. They went through my pockets, and after
they had taken everything they could find, they skipped. After
all, I've come to the conclusion that it's better to live without
money than to die with a pocket full of it.
From the Epistolæ,' iii. 54.


## p. 281 (#311) ############################################

281
ALCMAN
(Seventh Century B. C. )
OCCORDING to legend, this illustrious Grecian lyric poet was
born in Lydia, and taken to Sparta as a slave when very
young, but emancipated by his master on the discovery of
his poetic genius. He flourished probably between 670 and 630, dur-
ing the peace following the Second Messenian War. It was that
remarkable period in which the Spartans were gathering poets and
musicians from the outer world of liberal accomplishment to educate
their children; for the Dorians thought it beneath the dignity of a
Dorian citizen to practice these things themselves.
His poetic remains indicate a social freedom at this period hardly
in keeping with the Spartan rigor alleged to have been practiced
without break from the ancient time of Lycurgus; perhaps this com-
munal asceticism was really a later growth, when the camp of mili-
tant slave-holders saw their fibre weakening under the art and luxury
they had introduced. He boasts of his epicurean appetite; with
evident truthfulness, as a considerable number of his extant frag-
ments are descriptions of dishes. He would have echoed Sydney
Smith's -
« Fate cannot harm me — I have dined to-day. ”
In a poem descriptive of spring, he laments that the season affords
but a scanty stock of his favorite viands.
The Alexandrian grammarians put Alcman at the head of the
lyric canon; perhaps partly because they thought him - the most
ancient, but he was certainly much esteemed in classic times. Ælian
says his songs were sung at the first performance of the gymnopædia
at Sparta in 665 B. C. , and often afterward. Much of his poetry was
erotic; but he wrote also hymns to the gods, and ethical and philo-
sophic pieces. His Parthenia,' which form a distinct division of
his writings, were songs sung at public festivals by, and in honor of,
the performing chorus of virgins. The subjects were either religious
or erotic. His proverbial wisdom, and the forms of verse which he
often chose, are reputed to have been like Pindar's. He said of him-
self that he sang like the birds, — that is, was self-taught.
He wrote in the broad Spartan dialect with a mixture of the
Æolic, and in various metres. One form of hexameter which he
invented was called Alcmanic after him. His poems were compre-
hended in six books. The scanty fragments which have survived are
included in Bergk's Poetæ Lyrici Græci? (1878). The longest was
found in 1855 by M. Mariette, in a tomb near the second pyramid.


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282
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
It is a papyrus fragment of three pages, containing a part of his
hymn to the Dioscuri, much mutilated and difficult to decipher.
His descriptive passages are believed to have been his best. The
best known and most admired of his fragments is his beautiful
description of night, which has been often imitated and paraphrased.
NIGHT
O
VER the drowsy earth still night prevails;
Calm sleep the mountain tops and shady vales,
The rugged cliffs and hollow glens;
The cattle on the hill. Deep in the sea,
The countless finny race and monster brood
Tranquil repose. Even the busy bee
Forgets her daily toil. The silent wood
No more with noisy hum of insect rings;
And all the feathered tribes, by gentle sleep subdued,
Roost in the glade, and hang their drooping wings.
Translation by Colonel Mure.
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
(1832-1888)
OUISA MAY ALCOTT, daughter of Amos Bronson and Abigail
(May) Alcott, and the second of the four sisters whom she
was afterward to make famous in Little Women,' was
born in Germantown, Pennsylvania, November 29th, 1832, her father's
thirty-third birthday. On his side, she
was descended from good Connecticut
stock; and on her mother's, from the Mays
and Quincys of Massachusetts, and from
Judge Samuel Sewall, who has left in his
diary as graphic a picture of the New
England home-life of two hundred years
ago, as his granddaughter of the fifth
generation did of that of her own time.
At the time of Louisa Alcott's birth
her father had charge of a school in Ger-
mantown; but within two years he moved
LOUISA M. Alcott
to Boston with his family, and put into
practice methods of teaching so far in
advance of his time that they were unsuccessful. From 1840, the
home of the Alcott family was in Concord, Massachusetts, with the



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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
283
exception of a short time spent in a community on a farm in a
neighboring town, and the years from 1848 to 1857 in Boston. At
seventeen, Louisa's struggle with life began. She wrote a play, con-
tributed sensational stories to weekly papers, tried teaching, sewing,
-even going out to service, — and would have become an actress
but for an accident. What she wrote of her mother is as true of
herself, «She always did what came to her in the way of duty or
charity, and let pride, taste, and comfort suffer for love's sake. ” Her
first book, Flower Fables,' a collection of fairy tales which she had
written at sixteen for the children of Ralph Waldo Emerson, some
other little friends, and her younger sisters, was printed in 1855 and
was well received. From this time until 1863 she wrote many
stories, but few that she afterward thought worthy of being re-
printed. Her best work from 1860 to 1863 is in the Atlantic Monthly,
indexed under her name; and the most carefully finished of her few
poems, “Thoreau's Flute,' appeared in that magazine in September,
1863. After six weeks' experience in the winter of 1862–63 as a
hospital nurse in Washington, she wrote for the Commonwealth, a
Boston weekly paper, a series of letters which soon appeared in book
form as Hospital Sketches. ' Miss Alcott says of them, “The
'Sketches) never made much money, but showed me my style. » »
In 1864 she published a novel, Moods'; and in 1866, after a year
abroad as companion to an invalid, she became editor of Merry's
Museum, a magazine for children.
Her Little Women,' founded on her own family life, was written
in 1867-68, in answer to a request from the publishing house of
Roberts Brothers for a story for girls, and its success was so great
that she soon finished a second part. The two volumes were trans-
lated into French, German, and Dutch, and became favorite books in
England. While editing Merry's Museum, she had written the first
part of “The Old-Fashioned Girl' as a serial for the magazine. After
the success of Little Women,' she carried the Old-Fashioned Girl'
and her friends forward several years, and ended the story with two
happy marriages. In 1870 she went abroad a second time, and from
her return the next year until her death in Boston from overwork on
March 6th, 1888, the day of her father's funeral, she published twenty
volumes, including two novels: one anonymous, (A Modern Mephisto-
pheles,' in the No Name series; the other, “Work,' largely a record
of her own experience. She rewrote Moods,' and changed the sad
ending of the first version to a more cheerful one; followed the for-
tunes of her "Little Women and their children in Little Men' and
Jo's Boys,' and published ten volumes of short stories, many of
them reprinted pieces. She wrote also Eight Cousins,' its sequel
Rose in Bloom,' Under the Lilacs,' and Jack and Jill. "


## p. 284 (#314) ############################################

284
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
The charm of her books lies in their freshness, naturalness, and
sympathy with the feelings and pursuits of boys and girls. She says
of herself, “I was born with a boy's spirit under my bib and tucker,”
and she never lost it. Her style is often careless, never elegant, for
she wrote hurriedly, and never revised or even read over her manu-
script; yet her books are full of humor and pathos, and preach the
gospel of work and simple, wholesome living. She has been a help
and inspiration to many young girls, who have learned from her Jo
in Little Women,' or Polly in the Old-Fashioned Girl,' or Christie
in Work,' that a woman can support herself and her family without
losing caste or self-respect. Her stories of the comradeship of New
England boys and girls in school or play have made her a popular
author in countries where even brothers and sisters see little of each
other. The haste and lack of care in her books are the result of
writing under pressure for money to support the family, to whom
she gave the best years of her life. As a little girl once said of her
in a school essay, “I like all Miss Alcott's books; but what I like best
in them is the author herself. ”
The reader is referred to Louisa May Alcott: Her Life, Letters,
and Journals, edited by Ednah D. Cheney, published in 1889.
THE NIGHT WARD
From Hospital Sketches)
B.
EING fond of the night side of nature, I was soon promoted
to the post of night nurse, with every facility for indulging
in my favorite pastime of "owling. ” My colleague, a
black-eyed widow, relieved me at dawn, we two taking care of
the ward between us, like regular nurses, turn and turn about.
I usually found my boys in the jolliest state of mind their con-
dition allowed; for it was a known fact that Nurse Periwinkle
objected to blue devils, and entertained a belief that he who
laughed most was surest of recovery.
At the beginning of my
reign, dumps and dismals prevailed; the nurses looked anxious
and tired, the men gloomy or sad; and a general “Hark-from-
the-tombs-a-doleful-sound” style of conversation seemed to be
the fashion: a state of things which caused one coming from a
merry, social New England town, to feel as if she had got into
an exhausted receiver; and the instinct of self-preservation, to
say nothing of a philanthropic desire to serve the race, caused a
speedy change in Ward No. 1.


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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
285
More flattering than the most gracefully turned compliment,
more grateful than the most admiring glance, was the sight of
those rows of faces, all strange to me a little while ago, now
lighting up with smiles of welcome as I came among them,
enjoying that moment heartily, with a womanly pride in their
regard, a motherly affection for them all. The evenings were
spent in reading aloud, writing letters, waiting on and amusing
the men, going the rounds with Dr. P as he made his second
daily survey, dressing my dozen wounds afresh, giving last doses,
and making them cozy for the long hours to come, till the nine
o'clock bell rang, the gas was turned down, the day nurses went
off duty, the night watch came on, and my nocturnal adventures
began.
My ward was now divided into three rooms; and under favor
of the matron, I had managed to sort out the patients in such a
way that I had what I called my “duty room," my pleasure
room," and my "pathetic room,” and worked for each in a
different way. One I visited armed with a dressing-tray full of
rollers, plasters, and pins; another, with books, flowers, games,
and gossip; a third, with teapots, lullabies, consolation, and some-
times a shroud.
Wherever the sickest or most helpless man chanced to be,
there I held my watch, often visiting the other rooms to see that
the general watchman of the ward did his duty by the fires and
the wounds, the latter needing constant wetting. Not only on
this account did I meander, but also to get fresher air than the
close rooms afforded; for owing to the stupidity of that myste-
rious somebody who does all the damage in the world, the
windows had been carefully nailed down above, and the lower
sashes could only be raised in the mildest weather, for the men
lay just below. I had suggested a summary smashing of a few
panes here and there, when frequent appeals to headquarters had
proved unavailing and daily orders to lazy attendants had come
to nothing No one seconded the motion, however, and the nails
were far beyond my reach; for though belonging to the sister-
hood of ministering angels,” I had no wings, and might as well
have asked for a suspension bridge as a pair of steps in that
charitable chaos.
One of the harmless ghosts who bore me company during the
haunted hours was Dan, the watchman, whom I regarded with a
certain awe; for though so much together, I never fairly saw his


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286
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
face, and but for his legs should never have recognized him, as
we seldom met by day. These legs were remarkable, as was his
whole figure: for his body was short, rotund, and done up in a
big jacket and muffler; his beard hid the lower part of his face,
his hat-brim the upper, and all I ever discovered was a pair of
sleepy eyes and a very mild voice. But the legs! — very long,
very thin, very crooked and feeble, looking like gray sausages in
their tight coverings, and finished off with a pair of expansive
green cloth shoes, very like Chinese junks with the sails down.
This figure, gliding noiselessly about the dimly lighted rooms,
was strongly suggestive of the spirit of a beer-barrel mounted on
corkscrews, haunting the old hotel in search of its lost mates,
emptied and staved in long ago.
Another goblin who frequently appeared to me was the attend.
ant of the pathetic room,” who, being a faithful soul, was often
up to tend two or three men, weak and wandering as babies,
after the fever had gone. The amiable creature beguiled the
watches of the night by brewing jorums of a fearful beverage
which he called coffee, and insisted on sharing with me; coming
in with a great bowl of something like mud soup, scalding hot,
guiltless of cream, rich in an all-pervading flavor of molasses,
scorch, and tin pot.
Even my constitutionals in the chilly halls possessed a certain
charm, for the house was never still. Sentinels tramped round
it all night long, their muskets glittering in the wintry moon-
light as they walked, or stood before the doors straight and
silent as figures of stone, causing one to conjure up romantic
visions of guarded forts, sudden surprises, and daring deeds; for
in these war times the humdrum life of Yankeedom has vanished,
and the most prosaic feel some thrill of that excitement which
stirs the Nation's heart, and makes its capital a camp of hospi-
tals. Wandering up and down these lower halls I often heard
.
cries from above, steps hurrying to and fro, saw surgeons passing
up, or men coming down carrying a stretcher, where lay a long
white figure whose face was shrouded, and whose fight was done.
Sometimes I stopped to watch the passers in the street, the
moonlight shining on the spire opposite, or the gleam of some
vessel floating, like a white-winged sea-gull, down the broad Po-
tomac, whose fullest flow can never wash away the red stain of
the land.
1


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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
287
AMY'S VALLEY OF HUMILIATION
From Little Women
"T"
“I just
hat boy is a perfect Cyclops, isn't he ? ” said Amy one day,
as Laurie clattered by on horseback, with a flourish of
his whip as he passed.
"How dare you say so, when he's got both his eyes ? and very
handsome ones they are, too,” cried Jo, who resented any slight-
ing remarks about her friend.
“I didn't say anything about his eyes; and I don't see why
you need fire up when I admire his riding. ”
"Oh, my goodness! that little goose means a centaur, and she
called him a Cyclops, exclaimed Jo, with a burst of laughter.
«You needn't be so rude; it's only a lapse of lingy,' as Mr.
Davis says,” retorted Amy, finishing Jo with her Latin.
wish I had a little of the money Laurie spends on that horse,”
she added, as if to herself, yet hoping her sisters would hear.
«Why? ” asked Meg, kindly, for Jo had gone off in another
laugh at Amy's second blunder.
"I need it so much: I'm dreadfully in debt, and it won't be
my turn to have the rag-money for a month. ”
« In debt, Amy: what do you mean? ” and Meg looked sober.
"Why, I owe at least a dozen pickled limes; and I can't pay
them, you know, till I have money, for Marmee forbids my hav-
ing anything charged at the shop. ”
« Tell me all about it. Are limes the fashion now? It used
to be pricking bits of rubber to make balls;” and Meg tried to
keep her countenance, Amy looked so grave and important.
«Why, you see, the girls are always buying them, and unless
you want to be thought mean, you must do it too. It's nothing
but limes now, for every one is sucking them in their desks in
school-time, and trading them off for pencils, bead-rings, paper
dolls, or something else, at recess. If one girl likes another, she
gives her a lime; if she's mad with her, she eats one before her
face, and don't offer even a suck. They treat by turns; and
I've had ever so many, but haven't returned them, and I ought,
for they are debts of honor, you know. ”
“How much will pay them off, and restore your credit ? ”
asked Meg, taking out her purse.
“A quarter would more than do it, and leave a few cents
over for a treat for you. Don't you like limes ? ”


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288
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
“Not much; you may have my share. Here's the money :
make it last as long as you can, for it isn't very plenty, you
know. ”
"Oh, thank you! it must be so nice to have pocket-money.
I'll have a grand feast, for I haven't tasted a lime this week. I
felt delicate about taking any, as I couldn't return them, and
I'm actually suffering for one. ”
Next day Amy was rather late at school; but could not resist
the temptation of displaying, with pardonable pride, a moist
brown-paper parcel before she consigned it to the inmost recesses
of her desk. During the next few minutes the rumor that Amy
March had got twenty-four delicious limes (she ate one on the
way), and was going to treat, circulated through her “set” and
the attentions of her friends became quite overwhelming. Katy
Brown invited her to her next party on the spot; Mary Kingsley
insisted on lending her her watch till recess; and Jenny Snow,
a satirical young lady who had basely twitted Amy upon her
limeless state, promptly buried the hatchet, and offered to furnish
answers to certain appalling sums. But Amy had not forgotten
Miss Snow's cutting remarks about some persons whose noses
were not too flat to smell other people's limes, and stuck-up
people who were not too proud to ask for them”; and she
instantly crushed “that Snow girl's” hopes by the withering tele-
gram, «You needn't be so polite all of a sudden, for you won't
get any. "
A distinguished personage happened to visit the school that
morning, and Amy's beautifully drawn maps received praise;
which honor to her foe rankled in the soul of Miss Snow, and
caused Miss March to assume the airs of a studious young
peacock. But, alas, alas! pride goes before a fall, and the
revengeful Snow turned the tables with disastrous success. No
sooner had the guest paid the usual stale compliments, and bowed
himself out, than Jenny, under pretence of asking an important
question, informed Mr. Davis, the teacher, that Amy March had
pickled limes in her desk.
Now, Mr. Davis had declared limes a contraband article, and
solemnly vowed to publicly ferule the first person who was found
breaking the law. This much-enduring man had succeeded in
banishing gum after a long and stormy war, had made a bonfire
of the confiscated novels and newspapers, had suppressed a
private post-office, had forbidden distortions of the face, nick-


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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
289
names, and caricatures, and done all that one man could do to
keep half a hundred rebellious girls in order. Boys are trying
enough to human patience, goodness knows! but girls are
infinitely more so, especially to nervous gentlemen with tyran-
nical tempers, and no more talent for teaching than “Dr. Blim-
ber. ” Mr. Davis knew any quantity of Greek, Latin, algebra,
and ologies of all sorts, so he was called a fine teacher; and
manners, morals, feelings, and examples were not considered of
any particular importance. It was a most unfortunate moment
for denouncing Amy, and Jenny knew it. Mr. Davis had evi-
dently taken his coffee too strong that morning; there was an
east wind, which always affected his neuralgia, and his pupils
had not done him the credit which he felt he deserved; therefore,
to use the expressive if not elegant language of a school-girl,
"he was as nervous as a witch, and as cross as a bear. ” The
word “limes” was like fire to powder: his yellow face flushed,
and he rapped on his desk with an energy which made Jenny
skip to her seat with unusual rapidity.
“Young ladies, attention, if you please! ”
At the stern order the buzz ceased, and fifty pairs of blue,
black, gray, and brown eyes were obediently fixed upon his
awful countenance.
“Miss March, come to the desk. ”
Amy rose to comply with outward composure; but a secret
fear oppressed her, for the limes weighed upon her conscience.
“Bring with you the limes you have in your desk,” was the
unexpected command which arrested her before she got out of
her seat.
“Don't take all,” whispered her neighbor, a young lady of
great presence of mind.
Amy hastily shook out half a dozen, and laid the rest down
before Mr. Davis, feeling that any man possessing a human heart
would relent when that delicious perfume met his nose. Unfor-
tunately, Mr. Davis particularly detested the odor of the fashion-
able pickle, and disgust added to his wrath.
Is that all ? ”
"Not quite,” stammered Amy.
"Bring the rest, immediately. ”
With a despairing glance at her set she obeyed.
“You are sure there are no more ? ”
"I never lie, sir. ”
1-19


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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
«So I see. Now take these disgusting things, two by two,
and throw them out of the window. ”
There was a simultaneous sigh, which created quite a little
gust as the last hope fled, and the treat was ravished from their
longing lips. Scarlet with shame and anger, Amy went to and
fro twelve mortal times; and as each doomed couple, looking, oh,
so plump and juicy! fell from her reluctant hands, a shout from
the street completed the anguish of the girls, for it told them
that their feast was being exulted over by the little Irish chil-
dren, who were their sworn foes. This- this was too much; all
flashed indignant or appealing glances at the inexorable Davis,
and one passionate lime-lover burst into tears.
As Amy returned from her last trip, Mr. Davis gave a por-
tentous “hem,” and said, in his most impressive manner:
«Young ladies, you remember what I said to you a week
ago. I am sorry this has happened; but I never allow my rules
to be infringed, and I never break my word. Miss March, hold
out your hand. ”
Amy started, and put both hands behind her, turning on him
an imploring look, which pleaded for her better than the words
she could not utter. She was rather a favorite with “old Davis,"
as of course. he was called, and it's my private belief that he
would have broken his word if the indignation of one irrepressible
young lady had not found vent in a hiss. That hiss, faint as it
was, irritated the irascible gentleman, and sealed the culprit's fate.
“Your hand, Miss March! ” was the only answer her mute
appeal received; and, too proud to cry or beseech, Amy set her
teeth, threw back her head defiantly, and bore without flinching
several tingling blows on her little palm. They were neither
many nor heavy, but that made no difference to her. For the
first time in her life she had been struck; and the disgrace, in
her eyes, was as deep as if he had knocked her down.
“You will now stand on the platform till recess," said Mr.