Still fresh, the rose is weeping tear on tear;
The pansy lifts her eye of purple hue;
Then the calm lilies, dreamers of the mere,
And budding corn; - and there my life lies too.
The pansy lifts her eye of purple hue;
Then the calm lilies, dreamers of the mere,
And budding corn; - and there my life lies too.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v24 - Sta to Tal
The world
is decimated. A veil of mourning extends over all the globe.
«From Asia to the icy Pole, they died upon the path of the
wanderer. Dost thou not hear the long-drawn sigh that rises
from the earth unto thee, O Lord ?
“Mercy for all! mercy for me! Let me but unite the de-
scendants of my sister for a single day, and they will be saved! ”
As he pronounced these words, the wayfarer sank upon his
knees, and raised to heaven his supplicating hands. Suddenly
the wind blew with redoubled violence; its sharp whistlings were
changed into the roar of a tempest.
The traveler shuddered; in a voice of terror he exclaimed:-
“The blast of death rises in its fury — the whirlwind carries
Lord! thou art then deaf to my prayer ?
“The spectre! oh, the spectre! it is again here! its green
face twitching with convulsive spasms — its red eyes rolling in
their orbits. Begone! begone! - its hand, oh! its icy hand has
again laid hold of mine.
Have mercy, heaven! » — "Go on! »
me on.
((
## p. 14201 (#391) ##########################################
EUGÈNE SUE
14201
-
“O Lord! the pestilence — the terrible plague — must I carry
it into this city? And my brethren will perish the first — they,
who are so sorely smitten even now! Mercy! ” “Go on! ”
"And the descendants of my sister. Mercy! Mercy! ” – "Go
ON! »
"O Lord, have pity! —I can no longer keep my ground;
the spectre drags me to the slope of the hill; my walk is rapid
as the deadly blast that rages behind me; already do I behold
the city gates. Have mercy, Lord, on the descendants of my
sister! Spare them; do not make me their executioner; let them
triumph over their enemies ! ” –“Go on! Go on! »
« The ground flies beneath my feet; there is the city gate.
Lord, it is yet time! Oh, mercy for that sleeping town! Let it
not waken to cries of terror, despair, and death! Lord, I am on
the threshold. Must it be? - Yes, it is done. Paris, the plague
is in thy bosom. The curse – oh, the eternal curse! ” Go on!
Go on! Go on! »
## p. 14202 (#392) ##########################################
14202
SUETONIUS
(EARLY PART OF SECOND CENTURY A. D. )
are
AIUS SUETONIUS TRANQUILLUS passed his manhood under Tra-
jan and Hadrian, and so was contemporary with the younger
Pliny and with Tacitus. As private secretary to the Empe-
ror Hadrian, he probably had access to State archives if he chose to
consult them; and heard the traditional stories of court life, which,
though mostly inaccurate, indicated vividly the character and life of
the early Cæsars. Where Tacitus is lost, Suetonius becomes our chief
authority for the Lives of the Cæsars,' from Julius to Domitian.
The first six much the more fully
treated; whether because as he approached
his own time he wearied of his task, found
less alien material ready to be appropriated,
or felt the ground less secure beneath him.
Suetonius is a writer quite devoid of
earnest purpose, dignity, or literary charm.
He is usually clear and straightforward
enough in style. His warmest interest is
excited by a scandalous bit of gossip. He
makes little effort at chronological treat-
ment of public events. Altogether, he is
an author whom historians must know and
SUETONIUS use, and whom even the general reader will
find sufficiently interesting; but we can take
no pride in our enjoyment of his ignoble recitals, and must hope
that the rather vivid general picture he draws is essentially untrue.
Modern recorders of life in royal palaces would at least feel impelled
to use the darker tints less constantly.
In meagre and fragmentary form we have also from Suetonius
several lives of literary men, notably those of Horace and Terence.
The biography of Pliny the Younger is pronounced spurious: a pity,
because our pleasantest glimpses of the man Suetonius are obtained
from the courtly letter-writer. In particular, Pliny writes Trajan that
his friend is an upright and learned gentleman, whom folk often
desire to remember in their wills. ” As a childless married man, Sue-
tonius cannot legally receive such legacies, unless a special dispensa-
tion shall accord him the rights properly reserved for the fathers of
three children. This favor the Emperor, it appears, readily granted.
## p. 14203 (#393) ##########################################
SUETONIUS
14203
The best literary edition of Suetonius is that with Latin notes in
the Lemaire collection (Paris, 1828). The lives of Julius and Augus-
tus are edited with full commentary by Professor H. T. Peck (New
York, 2d ed. , 1893). The most recent translation is by Thomson and
Forester (London, 1881).
CALIGULA'S MADNESS
H
E USED also to complain aloud of the state of the times, because
it was not rendered remarkable by any public calamities;
for while the reign of Augustus had been made memorable
to posterity by the disaster of Varus, and that of Tiberius by the
fall of the theatre at Fidenæ, his was likely to pass into obliv-
ion, from an uninterrupted series of prosperity. And at times he
wished for some terrible slaughter of his troops, a famine, a pes-
,
tilence, conflagrations, or an earthquake.
Even in the midst of his diversions, while gaming or feasting,
this savage ferocity, both in his language and actions, never for-
sook him. Persons were often put to the torture in his presence,
whilst he was dining or carousing. A soldier who was an adept
in the art of beheading used at such times to take off the heads
of prisoners, who were brought in for that purpose. At Pute-
oli, at the dedication of the bridge which he planned, as already
mentioned, he invited a number of people to come to him from
the shore, and then suddenly threw them headlong into the sea;
thrusting down with poles and oars those who, to save them-
selves, had got hold of the rudders of the ships. At Rome, in
a public feast, a slave having stolen some thin plates of silver
with which the couches were inlaid, he delivered him immedi-
ately to an executioner, with orders to cut off his hands, and lead
him round the guests with them hanging from his neck before
his breast, and a label, signifying the cause of his punishment.
A gladiator who was practicing with him, and voluntarily threw
himself at his feet, he stabbed with a poniard, and then ran
about with a palm branch in his hand, after the manner of those
who are victorious in the games. When a victim was to be
offered upon an altar, he, clad in the habit of the Popæ, and
holding the axe aloft for a while, at last slaughtered, instead of
the animal, an officer who attended to cut up the sacrifice. And
at a sumptuous entertainment he fell suddenly into a violent fit
of laughter; and upon the consuls who reclined next to him
## p. 14204 (#394) ##########################################
14204
SUETONIUS
»
respectfully asking him the occasion,– "Nothing,” replied he,
“but that upon a single nod of mine you might both have your
throats cut. ”
Among many other jests, this was one: As he stood by the
statue of Jupiter, he asked Apelles the tragedian which of them
he thought was biggest ? Upon his demurring about it, he lashed
him most severely; now and then commending his voice, whilst
he entreated for mercy, as being well modulated even when he
was venting his grief. As often as he kissed the neck of his
wife or mistress, he would say, “So beautiful a throat must be
cut whenever I please; ” and now and then he would threaten
to put his dear Cæsonia to the torture, that he might discover
why he loved her so passionately.
In his behavior towards men of almost all ages, he discovered
a degree of jealousy and malignity equal to that of his cruelty
and pride. He so demolished and dispersed the statues of sev-
eral illustrious persons,— which had been removed by Augustus,
for want of room, from the court of the Capitol into the Campus
Martius, – that it was impossible to set them up again with their
inscriptions entire. And for the future, he forbade any statue
whatever to be erected without his knowledge and leave. He
had thoughts too of suppressing Homer's poems; for “Why,"
,
said he, “may not I do what Plato has done before me, who
excluded him from his commonwealth ? ” He was likewise very
near banishing the writings and the busts of Virgil and Livy
from all libraries: censuring one of them as "a man of no gen-
ius and very little learning, and the other as a verbose and
careless historian. ” He often talked of the lawyers as if he
intended to abolish their profession. By Hercules! ” he would
say, “I shall put it out of their power to answer any legal ques-
tions otherwise than by referring to me! ”
He took from the noblest persons in the city the ancient marks
of distinction used by their families: as the collar from Torqua-
tus; from Cincinnatus the curl of hair; and from Cneius Pompey
the surname of Great, belonging to that ancient family. Ptolemy,
mentioned before, whom he invited from his kingdom, and re-
ceived with great honors, he suddenly put to death; for no other
reason but because he observed that upon entering the theatre,
at a public exhibition, he attracted the eyes of all the spectators
by the splendor of his purple robe. As often as he met with
handsome men who had fine heads of hair, he would order the
## p. 14205 (#395) ##########################################
SUETONIUS
14205
back of their heads to be shaved, to make them appear ridicu-
lous. There was one Esius Proculus, the son of a centurion of
the first rank, who, for his great stature and fine proportions, was
called the Colossal. Him he ordered to be dragged from his seat
in the arena, and matched with a gladiator in light armor, and
afterwards with another completely armed; and upon his worst-
ing them both, commanded him forthwith to be bound, to be led
clothed in rags up and down the streets of the city, and after
being exhibited in that plight to the women, to be then butchered.
There was no man of so abject or mean condition, whose excel-
lency in any kind he did not envy.
COWARDICE AND DEATH OF NERO
OM
N THE arrival of the news that the rest of the armies had
declared against him, he tore to pieces the letters which
were delivered to him at dinner, overthrew the table,
and dashed with violence against the ground two favorite cups,
which he called Homer's because some of that poet's verses
were cut upon them. Then taking from Locusta a dose of poi-
son, which he put up in a golden box, he went into the Servilian
gardens: and thence dispatching a trusty freedman to Ostia, with
orders to make ready a fleet, he endeavored to prevail with some
tribunes and centurions of the prætorian guards to attend him
in his flight; but part of them showing no great inclination to
comply, others absolutely refusing, and one of them crying out
aloud, -
“Usque adeone mori miserum est ? »
[Say, is it then so sad a thing to die? ]
he was in great perplexity whether he should submit himself to
Galba, or apply to the Parthians for protection, or else appear
before the people dressed in mourning, and upon the rostra, in
the most piteous manner, beg pardon for his past misdemeanors,
and if he could not prevail, request of them to grant him at least
the government of Egypt. A speech to this purpose was after-
wards found in his writing-case. But it is conjectured that he
durst not venture upon this project, for fear of being torn to
pieces before he could get to the forum. Deferring therefore
his resolution until the next day, he awoke about midnight, and
finding the guards withdrawn, he leaped out of bed, and sent
## p. 14206 (#396) ##########################################
14206
SUETONIUS
sage in
.
round for his friends. But none of them vouchsafing any mes-
reply, he went with a few attendants to their houses.
The doors being everywhere shut, and no one giving him any
answer, he returned to his bed-chamber, whence those who had
the charge of it had all now eloped; some having gone one way
and some another, carrying off with them his bedding and box
of poison. He then endeavored to find Spicillus the gladiator,
or some one, to kill him; but not being able to procure any one,
« What! ” said he, have I then neither friend nor foe? ” and im-
mediately ran out, as if he would throw himself into the Tiber.
But this furious impulse subsiding, he wished for some place
of privacy, where he might collect his thoughts; and his freed-
man Phaon offering him his country-house, between the Salarian
and Nomentan roads, about four miles from the city, he mounted
a horse, barefoot as he was and in his tunic, only slipping over
it an old soiled cloak; with his head muffled up, and a handker-
chief before his face, and four persons only to attend him, of
whom Sporus was one. He was suddenly struck with horror
by an earthquake, and by a flash of lightning which darted full
in his face; and heard from the neighboring camp the shouts of
the soldiers, wishing his destruction, and prosperity to Galba. He
also heard a traveler they met on the road say, “They are in
pursuit of Nero;” and another ask, “Is there any news in the
city about Nero ? » Uncovering his face when his horse was
started by the scent of a carcass which lay in the road, he was
recognized and saluted by an old soldier who had been discharged
from the guards. When they came to the lane which turned up
to the house, they quitted their horses, and with much difficulty
he wound among bushes and briers, and along a track through a
bed of rushes, over which they spread their cloaks for him to
walk on. Having reached a wall at the back of the villa, Phaon
advised him to hide himself awhile in a sand-pit; when he re-
plied, "I will not go underground alive. ” Staying there some
little time, while preparations were made for bringing him pri-
vately into the villa, he took up in his hand some water out of
a neighboring tank, to drink, saying, “This is Nero's distilled
water. ” Then, his cloak having been torn by the brambles, he
pulled out the thorns which stuck in it. At last, being admitted,
creeping upon his hands and knees through a hole made for him
in the wall, he lay down in the first closet he came to, upon a
miserable pallet, with an old coverlet thrown over it; and being
((
## p. 14207 (#397) ##########################################
SUETONIUS
14207
>
both hungry and thirsty, though he refused some coarse bread
that was brought him, he drank a little warm water.
All who surrounded him now pressing him to save himself
from the indignities which were ready to befall him, he ordered
a pit to be sunk before his eyes, of the size of his body, and the
bottom to be covered with pieces of marble put together, if any
could be found about the house; and water and wood to be got
ready for immediate use about his corpse: weeping at everything
that was done, and frequently saying, "What an artist is now
about to perish! ” Meanwhile, letters being brought in by a sery-
ant belonging to Phaon, he snatched them out of his hand and
there read, “That he had been declared an enemy by the Senate;
and that search was making for him, that he might be pun-
ished according to the ancient custom of the Romans. ” He then
inquired what kind of punishment that was; and being told that
the practice was to strip the criminal naked and scourge him to
death, while his neck was fastened within a forked stake, he was
so terrified that he took up two daggers which he had brought
with him, and after feeling the points of both, put them up again,
saying, “The fatal hour has not yet come. ” One while, he begged
of Sporus to begin to wail and lament; another while, he en-
treated that one of them would set him an example by killing
himself; and then again, he condemned his own want of resolu-
tion in these words: “I yet live, to my shame and disgrace: this
is not becoming for Nero; it is not becoming. · Thou oughtest
in such circumstances to have a good heart. Come then; cour-
age, man!
The horsemen who had received orders to bring
him away alive, were now approaching the house.
As soon
he heard them coming, he uttered with a trembling voice the fol-
lowing verse:-
“Ιππων μ' ωκυπόδων αμφί χτύπος ουατα βάλλει:
(The noise of swift-heeled steeds assails my ears;)
>
as
he then drove a dagger into his throat, being assisted in the act
by his secretary Epaphroditus. A centurion bursting in just as
he was dying, and applying his cloak to the wound, pretending
that he was come to his assistance, he made no other reply but
this: «'Tis too late,” and “Is this your loyalty ? ) Immediately
»
after pronouncing these words he expired, with his eyes fixed
and starting out of his head, to the terror of all who beheld him.
## p. 14208 (#398) ##########################################
14208
SUETONIUS
VITELLIUS
E
H
(
>
WAS chiefly addicted to the vices of luxury and cruelty.
He always made three meals a day, sometimes four; break-
fast, dinner, and supper, and a drunken revel after all.
For these several meals he would make different ap-
pointments at the houses of his friends, on the same day. None
ever entertained him at less expense than 400,000 sesterces Cover
$20,000). The most famous was a set entertainment given him
by his brother, at which, it is said, there were served up no less
than two thousand choice fishes and seven thousand birds.
Yet
even this supper he himself outdid, at a feast he gave on the
first use of a dish which had been made for him, and which
for its extraordinary size he called “The Shield of Minerva. ”
In this dish were tossed up together the livers of char-fish, the
brains of pheasants and peacocks, the tongues of flamingoes, and
the entrails of lampreys, which had been brought in ships of
war as far as from the Carpathian Sea and the Spanish Straits.
He was not only a man of insatiable appetite, but would gratify
it at the most unseasonable times, and with any garbage that
came in his way.
He delighted in the infliction of punishments, even capital
ones, without any distinction of persons or occasions. Several
noblemen, his schoolfellows and companions, invited by him to
court, he treated with such flattering caresses as seemed to indi-
cate an affection short only of admitting them to share the hon-
ors of the imperial dignity; yet he put them all to death by
some base means or other. To one he gave poison with his own
hand, in a cup of cold water which he called for in a fever.
He scarcely spared one of all the usurers, notaries, and publicans
who had ever demanded a debt of him at Rome, or any toll
or custom on the road. One of these, while in the very act of
saluting him, he ordered for execution, but immediately sent for
him back; upon which all about him applauding his clemency,
he commanded him to be slain in his own presence, saying, "I
have a mind to feed my eyes. ” Two sons who interceded for
their father, he ordered to be executed with him. A Roman
knight, upon his being dragged away for execution, and crying
out to him, “You are my heir,” he desired to produce his will;
and finding that he had made his freedman joint heir with him,
he commanded that both he and the freedman should have their
throats cut.
## p. 14209 (#399) ##########################################
14209
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
(RENÉ FRANÇOIS ARMAND PRUDHOMME)
(1839-)
BY FIRMIN ROZ
ULLY-PRUDHOMME, born in Paris, May 16th, 1839, is the poet
who best represents the last third of the century. But he
represents it as a poet; that is, in beauty and in noble-
ness, in its most intimate aspirations, in its purest sorrows, in its
most beautiful impulses.
The spirit so freely poured out in romantic lyricism seemed, after
an enchanted rest in the picturesque poetry
of Théophile Gautier and the fancy of Théo-
dore de Banville, to reawaken and come to
itself again. After the period during which
it found the fullest expression, and that
during which it had seemed to forget its
own existence, behold it meditating in the
midst of tumult, and seeking illumination
to guide its way henceforth more prudently.
Leconte de Lisle examines the history of
the beliefs of humanity, and sets forth the
different forms of the Divine dream and
of the conception of life, in the Poèmes SULLY-PRUDHOMME
Antiques) (1853) and the 'Poèmes Barbares)
(1859); which made him, in the absence of Victor Hugo, then in
exile, the acknowledged master of French poetry. Around him are
grouped the poets who were soon to take the name of «Parnassians,"
after the publication of their verses by the publisher Lemerre in
the collection Parnasse Contemporain? (1866). Sully-Prudhomme,
younger by twenty years, came by another way. A very tender
sensibility was united in him to very serious reflection. His educa-
tion had favored these natural tendencies. Reared by a mother in
mourning, who was never consoled for the death of an adored hus-
band,- for whom she had waited ten years, and whom she lost after
four years of marriage, - the child had been placed in school very
young, and had already suffered from “the first loneliness. ) Later,
preparation for the École Polytechnique had developed in him a taste
XXIV—889
-
## p. 14210 (#400) ##########################################
14210
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
for the sciences, and had revealed to him the secrets of their exact
methods. A malady of the eyes obliged him to abandon his studies
just as they were about to be crowned with success. But his mind
retained their impress. The deepest feeling and the most scrupulous
thinking henceforth shared his inspiration; or to express it better,
mingled in and imbued an original poetry which is both analytic and
living, scholarly and emotional. Now sentiment dominates, illumi-
nated by a ray of careful thought (see L'Agonie,' which we cite);
now it is the idea developed, but colored, warmed, penetrated, by
feeling. Such are the delightful collections of the first fifteen years:
(Stances et Poèmes) (1865), "Les Épreuves) (The Tests: 1866), "Les
Solitudes) (1869), “Les Vrais Tendresses' (The True Affections: '1875).
But the philosophical thinking of Sully-Prudhomme did not find
satisfaction in the close analyses or penetrating intuitions which these
poems translated. The conflict of reason and the heart, which is the
drama of our time, tortured the poet. He resolved to consecrate to
it his dearest vigils. From this noble effort two grand philosophi-
cal poems resulted: (La Justice and Le Bonheur' (1888). Doubt-
less philosophic poetry already existed in our literature: Jocelyn'
and the Chute d'un Ange,' some parts of the Contemplation,'
(Eloa, Moise,' and Les Destinées,' are masterpieces. But Sully-
Prudhomme has done something different. For imaginative dreams
of philosophy he has substituted methodical investigation; slow,
prudent, but always anxious, and hence worthy of poetry. And his
ambition has been precisely to reconcile poetry with scientific re-
search, In order to adapt himself to the difficulties of this task,-
“to demand from the strongest and most exact of poets the secret of
subjecting the verse to the idea,” — he began by translating verse by
verse, with rigorous exactness and without altering its strong beauty,
the first book of Lucretius. Then he began upon his great poem,
"La Justice. This poem, very symmetrical in composition, comprises
eleven "vigils,” preceded by a prologue and followed by an epilogue.
After seeking justice in the universe without finding it, the poet dis-
covers it at last in the heart of man, which is its inviolable and
sacred temple. The first six vigils form the first part of the volume
(Silence au Cour' (Heart, Be Silent); the last five are grouped
in a second part entitled Appel au Cour' (Appeal to the Heart).
Each vigil is a dialogue between “The Seeker,” who pitilessly analyzes
every idea or every fact in a sonnet, and "A Voice,” which consoles
and reassures him by revealing the divine aspect of all things.
Le Bonheur? (Happiness) is a symbolic epic. Faustus and Stella,
set free from earth, seek the happiness which they had vainly pur-
sued here below. Neither emotional Intoxication” « Thought”
can realize this ideal so imperiously claimed by all hearts. The third
nor
## p. 14211 (#401) ##########################################
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14211
part, Le Suprême Essor (The Supreme Flight), shows us that sacri-
fice alone can elevate us to a true felicity.
Doubtless there are laborious verses in these two long-winded
works, in which Sully-Prudhomme has attempted the difficult recon-
ciliation of pure thought with poetry. But there are incomparable
beauties, truly new. Never has philosophic poetry been more rigor-
ous, while retaining more of beauty; never has the fusion been so
close between the thought, the sentiment, and the image.
Sully-Prudhomme has published in prose a remarkable study in
æsthetics, 'L'Expression dans les Beaux-Arts? (Expression in the Fine
Arts: 1884); "Réflexions sur l'Art des Vers' (Reflections on the Art of
Versification: 1892); and a philosophical volume (1895) on the nature,
the limitations, and the extent of our learning, Que Sais-je ? (What
Do I Know ? ) His translation of the first book of Lucretius contains
a long preface Upon the state and the future of philosophy. ”
Firmin
Roz
TO THE READER
THESE
HESE flowers I gathered by the highway side,
Where good and evil fate has cast my days:
I dare not give them to you loosely tied;
I'll twine them in a wreath — to win more praise.
Still fresh, the rose is weeping tear on tear;
The pansy lifts her eye of purple hue;
Then the calm lilies, dreamers of the mere,
And budding corn; - and there my life lies too.
And thine too, reader, - is't not even so ?
One fate is always ours in joy or woe,-
To weep love's tears, and think, but never know,
How we have lost in dreaming spring's best day.
.
Then comes the hour when we would rise from play,
And plant some seed before we pass away.
## p. 14212 (#402) ##########################################
14212
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
UNKNOWN FRIENDS
NE line
One Re-ope the wound whose smart is not forgot
;
The word that doth another's sufferings tell
May drop like tears on our own anguished spot,
Where heart misjudged awaits its soothing spell.
My verse, perchance, may reach you and restore,
With lightning flash, the sleeping grief of old;
Or by that one true word — long waited for
The sudden name of all you feel unfold,
Nor tell the eyes from whom I learnt my lore.
THE MISSAL
A
MISSAL of the first King Francis's reign,
Rusted by years, with many a yellow stain,
And blazons worn, by pious fingers prest,-
Within whose leaves, enshrined in silver rare
By some old goldsmith's art in glory drest,
Speaking his boldness and his loving care,
This faded flower found rest.
How very old it is! you plainly mark
Upon the page its sap in tracery dark.
« Perhaps three hundred years ? » What need be said ?
It has but lost one shade of crimson dye;
Before its death it might have seen that flown:
Needs naught save wing of wandering butterfly
To touch the bloom
-'tis gone.
It has not lost one fibre from its heart,
Nor seen one jewel from its crown depart;
The page still wrinkles where the dew once dried,
When that last morn was sad with other weeping;
Death would not kill, - only to kiss it tried,
In loving guise above its brightness creeping,
Nor blighted as it died.
A sweet but mournful scent is o'er me stealing,
As when with memory wakes long-buried feeling;
That scent from the closed casket slow ascending
Tells of long years o'er that strange herbal sped.
## p. 14213 (#403) ##########################################
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14213
Our bygone things have still some perfume blending,
And our lost loves are paths, where roses' bloom,
Sweet e'en in death, is shed.
At eve, when faint and sombre grows the air,
Perchance a lambent heart may flicker there,
Seeking an entrance to the book to find;
And when the Angelus strikes on the sky,
Praying some hand may that one page unbind,
Where all his love and homage lie, —
The flower that told his mind.
Take comfort, knight, who rode to Pavia's plain
But ne'er returned to woo your love again;
Or you, young page, whose heart rose up on high
To Mary and thy dame in mingled prayer!
This flower which died beneath some unknown eye
Three hundred years ago,- you placed it there,
And there it still shall lie.
LA CHARPIE
A
SOMBRE night, a starless sky!
Jeanne sits, her heart with weeping sore,
The cloth unwinding patiently
For soldiers wounded in the war.
Her lover to the war is gone:
His kiss yet fresh — 'twas but to-day:
Her brothers too! She sits alone:
They marched with him this morn away.
Now booms more closely on her ears
The cannon's summons, stern and loud,
“Surrender! Famine! ” Then she hears
Her City's “No” in answer proud.
Her holy task at last is o'er;
Has it not brought her spirit rest?
When suddenly her humble door
By timid hand is softly pressed.
A stranger girl is standing there
Within the door, her eyes as blue
## p. 14214 (#404) ##########################################
14214
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
As heaven, her features pale, her hair
Of gold, her dress of sombre hue.
And these her words:-Jeanne, have no fear,
The red cross on my arm I show;
My name and all that brings me here -
Oh, let me in ! - you soon shall know.
“At home they call me Margaret;
I've wandered from the banks of Rhine
For him on whom my heart is set:
Oh, let me in! Your grief is mine;
“By the same fears our hearts are torn;
Oh, by our youth, our love, our pain,
We're sisters now! leave hate and scorn
For deadly fight on yonder plain.
Together we'll our charpie weave:
For blood knows naught of colors two;
Those grow alike who love and grieve:
We'll weep together, I and you! ”
She, ere the words had left her lips,
The charpie threads asunder tore,
Working with trembling finger-tips
For soldiers wounded in the war.
ENFANTILLAGE
M"
Y LADY! you were little then:
Twelve years were mine;
Soon forgotten were your lovers,
All left to pine.
When we played among the others,
You still I sought;
When small hands were intertwining,
'Twas yours I caught.
As in gold and purple glory,
Poised o'er the rose,
Tells the butterfly his story,
All his heart glows;
## p. 14215 (#405) ##########################################
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14215
Leaf by leaf, still nearer drawing,
Is yet too shy
All the honey-dew to gather
She holds so nigh:
So my heart was yearning wildly
Your lips to press;
'Twas your slender fingers only
I dared caress.
Through me thrilled a sudden rapture,
Then keen as woe:
What gave joy and pain such meeting ?
Love – long ago.
Twelve years only — and a lover!
'Tis not common.
You too, Lady — were you feeling
Like a woman ?
Did there come some thought bewildering
As, half afraid,
With your frock and with your dolly
You stood and played ?
-
If I praised too soon a poet –
Your tiny feet,
Too soon fair, you leant and touched me
With magic sweet.
I at least have ne'er forgotten
That even-tide
When we set up house together,-
Bridegroom and bride.
Gems you dreamed of;—I dreamed over
My vow to you!
Both were older than our years were,
Both different too!
We played at the dance and dinner:
You wished it so,-
Said that proper weddings must have
Some pomp and show.
You enjoyed it as a pastime,–
I thought it true,
## p. 14216 (#406) ##########################################
14216
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
Told my love aloud, and whispered
« Dearest to you.
On your cheek I ventured, dreaming,
One kiss to leave.
Play for me has all been over
Since that spring eve.
AU BORD DE L'EAU
Tºs
sit and watch the wavelets as they flow,
Two,-side by side ;
To see the gliding clouds that come and go,
And mark them glide;
If from low roofs the smoke is wreathing pale,
To watch it wreathe;
If flowers around breathe perfume on the gale,
To feel them breathe;
If the bee sips the honeyed fruit that glistens,
To sip the dew;
If the bird warbles while the forest listens,
To listen too;
Beneath the willow where the brook is singing,
To hear its song;
Nor feel, while round us that sweet dream is clinging,
The hours too long;
To know one only deep o'ermastering passion, -
The love we share;
To let the world go worrying in its fashion
Without one care —
We only, while around all weary grow,
Unwearied stand,
And midst the fickle changes others know,
Love - hand in hand.
## p. 14217 (#407) ##########################################
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14217
CE QUI DURE
HO
ow cold and wan the present lowers,
O my true Love! around us twain;
How little of the Past is ours !
How changed the friends who yet remain.
We cannot without envying view
The eyes with twenty summers gay;
For eyes 'neath which our childhood grew
Have long since passed from earth away.
Each hour still steals our youth; alas!
No hour will e'er the theft restore:
There's but one thing that will not pass,-
The heart I loved thee with of yore.
That heart which plays in life its part,
With love elate, with loss forlorn,
Is still — through all — the child's pure heart
My mother gave when I was born.
That heart, where nothing new can light,
Where old thoughts draw their cherished breath,-
It loves thee, dear, with all the might
That Life can wield in strife with Death.
If it of Death the conqueror be,
If there's in Man some nobler part
That wins him immortality,
Then thou hast, Love! that deathless heart.
IF YOU BUT KNEW
I
F YOU but knew the tears that fall
For life unloved and fireside drear,
Perhaps, before my lonely hall,
You would pass near.
If you but knew your power to thrill
My drooping soul by one pure glance,
One look across my window-sill
You'd cast perchance.
## p. 14218 (#408) ##########################################
14218
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
If you but knew what soothing balm
One heart can on another pour,
Would you not sit - a sister calm
Beside my door ?
And if you knew I loved you well,
And loved you too with all my heart,
You'd come to me, with me to dwell,
And ne'er depart.
SEPARATION
W"
E WANDERED down, at dawn of day,
A narrow path — heart close to heart;
At noon, upon the world's highway,
I walk to right, you left - apart.
No more we have our heaven together.
How bright is yours! How black is mine!
Your choice is still the sunniest weather,
I keep the side where naught will shine.
Where'er you walk, gleams round you play -
The very sand has diamond beads;
No beams e'er light with gladdening ray
The cold gray soil my footstep treads.
Bird-songs and whispers full of sweets,
Caressing, woo your eye and ear;
Your hair the breeze, adoring, greets;
Your lip the bee, entranced, draws near.
And I - I can but sing and sigh;
My heart's deep wound is ill at ease;
From leaf-hid nests the fondling cry
Disturbs me more than it can please.
But Love! a sky forever bright
May make too keen our mortal joy;
The air's embrace has too much might;
The incense e'en of flowers may cloy.
Then yearns the soul for that calm rest
That closes round at closing day,
With half-shut eye, on some true breast
To watch Life's fever ebb away.
## p. 14219 (#409) ##########################################
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14219
Will you not come and take your seat
By that highway at evening-fall?
I'll wait you there. We two shall meet
Where one deep shadow wraps it all.
THE DEATH AGONY
Y*
E who are watching when my end draws near,
Speak not, I pray!
'Twill help me most some music faint to hear,
And pass away.
For song can loosen, link by link, each care
From life's hard chain.
So gently rock my griefs; but oh, beware!
To speak were pain.
I'm weary of all words: their wisest speech
Can naught reveal;
Give me the spirit-sounds minds cannot reach,
But hearts can feel.
Some melody which all my soul shall steep,
As tranced I lie,
Passing from visions wild to dreamy sleep,-
From sleep to die.
Ye who are watching when my end draws near,
Speak not, I pray!
Some sounds of music murmuring in my ear
Will smooth my way.
My nurse, poor shepherdess! I'd bid you seek;
Tell her my whim:
I want her near me, when I'ın faint and weak
On the grave's brim.
I want to hear her sing, ere I depart,
Just once again,
In simple monotone to touch the heart
That Old World strain.
You'll find her still, - the rustic hovel gives
Calm hopes and fears;
But in this world of mine one rarely lives
Thrice twenty years.
## p. 14220 (#410) ##########################################
14220
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
Be sure you leave us with our hearts alone,
Only us two!
She'll sing to me in her old trembling tone,
Stroking my brow.
She only to the end will love through all
My good and ill;
So will the air of those old songs recall
My first years still.
And dreaming thus, I shall not feel at last
My heart-strings torn,
But all unknowing, the great barriers past,
Die- as we're born.
Ye who are watching when my end draws near,
Speak not, I pray!
'Twill help me most some music faint to hear,
And pass away.
The above translations were all made by E. and R. E. Prothero.
## p. 14220 (#411) ##########################################
## p. 14220 (#412) ##########################################
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## p. 14220 (#413) ##########################################
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## p. 14220 (#414) ##########################################
## p. 14221 (#415) ##########################################
14221
CHARLES SUMNER
(1811-1874)
HARLES SUMNER was born in Boston, January 6th, 1811. His
name is inscribed on the roll of men of letters; but it is
e indeed writ larger, and more familiarly known, upon a
somewhat different page. There can be no doubt, however, that the
effective orator has an honored place among literary artists. In fact
some men, weary of fictitious pathos and useless tears, might be
tempted to give the highest honors, even in the art of expression,
not to epic poet or romancer, but to him who in a vital crisis sways
a doubting Senate or a reluctant mob to heroic decision and action.
And this learned jurist, this many-sided indefatigable scholar, this
puritanic reformer and persistent doctrinaire, was an inspiring orator,
a powerful preacher of political ethics and civic righteousness.
Perhaps there has been no more typical example of that earlier
Bostonian culture, with its high standards, than Charles Sumner. He
knew nothing of such early hardships, such a struggle for intellectual
life, as Lincoln's. He followed his grandfather and his father from
the best classical schools to Harvard College, where he graduated in
1830. When he came of age he was already Judge Story's favorite
pupil. At twenty-five he was widely known, even to European
scholars, through his learned essays in the Jurist, and had pub-
lished several volumes of legal Reports' which are still standard
works of reference. His interest was deepest in the large problems
of international law. In England, thanks to Judge Story's enthusias-
tic letters and his own modest worth, he had such popularity and
social success no young American of private station had ever
enjoyed. He was repeatedly invited to a seat beside the judges in
the highest English courts.
From his three happy years in England, France, Italy, and Ger-
many (1837-1840), he returned to the rather uncongenial and un-
remunerative practice of law in his native Boston. He was not only
learned in history and kindred fields, but a trained connoisseur in
music and art as well. Naturally he was one of the favorites in
the brilliant circle centring about the Ticknors. His lifelong friend-
ships with Longfellow, and others of the group, were already firmly
knit. A casual remark of his at this period indicates an ambition to
become some day president of Harvard College. Judge Story's dying
as
## p. 14222 (#416) ##########################################
14222
CHARLES SUMNER
(
desire was that Charles Sumner should fill his chair in the Harvard
Law School.
But in that very year, this industrious many-sided scholar had sud-
denly discovered the sterner purpose for which his life had thus far
been the preparation. He was invited to deliver the Fourth of July
oration, in the presence of the citizen militia, on the eve of the war
of conquest against Mexico. His speech, on "The True Grandeur of
Nations,' was a fervent protest against all war as a survival of bar-
barism.
In the next autumn - eight years later than his old schoolmate
Phillips — he plunged into the Abolition agitation. His speech in
November 1845 at once gave him a leading place in the political
wing of the movement. The social ostracism and ridicule he had to
face cannot have disturbed his lofty soul. The partial abandonment
of his cherished studies no doubt cost him an inward struggle. But
there was no hesitation, when the call grew clear to him.
« ( Forego thy dreams of lettered ease;
Lay thou the scholar's promise by:
The rights of man are more than these. )
He heard, and answered: Here am I. ) »
It was in 1851 that a fusion of Free-Soilers and Democrats made
Sumner United States Senator from Massachusetts. He succeeded
Webster, and Clay left the Senate on the day Sumner entered it.
Mr.
is decimated. A veil of mourning extends over all the globe.
«From Asia to the icy Pole, they died upon the path of the
wanderer. Dost thou not hear the long-drawn sigh that rises
from the earth unto thee, O Lord ?
“Mercy for all! mercy for me! Let me but unite the de-
scendants of my sister for a single day, and they will be saved! ”
As he pronounced these words, the wayfarer sank upon his
knees, and raised to heaven his supplicating hands. Suddenly
the wind blew with redoubled violence; its sharp whistlings were
changed into the roar of a tempest.
The traveler shuddered; in a voice of terror he exclaimed:-
“The blast of death rises in its fury — the whirlwind carries
Lord! thou art then deaf to my prayer ?
“The spectre! oh, the spectre! it is again here! its green
face twitching with convulsive spasms — its red eyes rolling in
their orbits. Begone! begone! - its hand, oh! its icy hand has
again laid hold of mine.
Have mercy, heaven! » — "Go on! »
me on.
((
## p. 14201 (#391) ##########################################
EUGÈNE SUE
14201
-
“O Lord! the pestilence — the terrible plague — must I carry
it into this city? And my brethren will perish the first — they,
who are so sorely smitten even now! Mercy! ” “Go on! ”
"And the descendants of my sister. Mercy! Mercy! ” – "Go
ON! »
"O Lord, have pity! —I can no longer keep my ground;
the spectre drags me to the slope of the hill; my walk is rapid
as the deadly blast that rages behind me; already do I behold
the city gates. Have mercy, Lord, on the descendants of my
sister! Spare them; do not make me their executioner; let them
triumph over their enemies ! ” –“Go on! Go on! »
« The ground flies beneath my feet; there is the city gate.
Lord, it is yet time! Oh, mercy for that sleeping town! Let it
not waken to cries of terror, despair, and death! Lord, I am on
the threshold. Must it be? - Yes, it is done. Paris, the plague
is in thy bosom. The curse – oh, the eternal curse! ” Go on!
Go on! Go on! »
## p. 14202 (#392) ##########################################
14202
SUETONIUS
(EARLY PART OF SECOND CENTURY A. D. )
are
AIUS SUETONIUS TRANQUILLUS passed his manhood under Tra-
jan and Hadrian, and so was contemporary with the younger
Pliny and with Tacitus. As private secretary to the Empe-
ror Hadrian, he probably had access to State archives if he chose to
consult them; and heard the traditional stories of court life, which,
though mostly inaccurate, indicated vividly the character and life of
the early Cæsars. Where Tacitus is lost, Suetonius becomes our chief
authority for the Lives of the Cæsars,' from Julius to Domitian.
The first six much the more fully
treated; whether because as he approached
his own time he wearied of his task, found
less alien material ready to be appropriated,
or felt the ground less secure beneath him.
Suetonius is a writer quite devoid of
earnest purpose, dignity, or literary charm.
He is usually clear and straightforward
enough in style. His warmest interest is
excited by a scandalous bit of gossip. He
makes little effort at chronological treat-
ment of public events. Altogether, he is
an author whom historians must know and
SUETONIUS use, and whom even the general reader will
find sufficiently interesting; but we can take
no pride in our enjoyment of his ignoble recitals, and must hope
that the rather vivid general picture he draws is essentially untrue.
Modern recorders of life in royal palaces would at least feel impelled
to use the darker tints less constantly.
In meagre and fragmentary form we have also from Suetonius
several lives of literary men, notably those of Horace and Terence.
The biography of Pliny the Younger is pronounced spurious: a pity,
because our pleasantest glimpses of the man Suetonius are obtained
from the courtly letter-writer. In particular, Pliny writes Trajan that
his friend is an upright and learned gentleman, whom folk often
desire to remember in their wills. ” As a childless married man, Sue-
tonius cannot legally receive such legacies, unless a special dispensa-
tion shall accord him the rights properly reserved for the fathers of
three children. This favor the Emperor, it appears, readily granted.
## p. 14203 (#393) ##########################################
SUETONIUS
14203
The best literary edition of Suetonius is that with Latin notes in
the Lemaire collection (Paris, 1828). The lives of Julius and Augus-
tus are edited with full commentary by Professor H. T. Peck (New
York, 2d ed. , 1893). The most recent translation is by Thomson and
Forester (London, 1881).
CALIGULA'S MADNESS
H
E USED also to complain aloud of the state of the times, because
it was not rendered remarkable by any public calamities;
for while the reign of Augustus had been made memorable
to posterity by the disaster of Varus, and that of Tiberius by the
fall of the theatre at Fidenæ, his was likely to pass into obliv-
ion, from an uninterrupted series of prosperity. And at times he
wished for some terrible slaughter of his troops, a famine, a pes-
,
tilence, conflagrations, or an earthquake.
Even in the midst of his diversions, while gaming or feasting,
this savage ferocity, both in his language and actions, never for-
sook him. Persons were often put to the torture in his presence,
whilst he was dining or carousing. A soldier who was an adept
in the art of beheading used at such times to take off the heads
of prisoners, who were brought in for that purpose. At Pute-
oli, at the dedication of the bridge which he planned, as already
mentioned, he invited a number of people to come to him from
the shore, and then suddenly threw them headlong into the sea;
thrusting down with poles and oars those who, to save them-
selves, had got hold of the rudders of the ships. At Rome, in
a public feast, a slave having stolen some thin plates of silver
with which the couches were inlaid, he delivered him immedi-
ately to an executioner, with orders to cut off his hands, and lead
him round the guests with them hanging from his neck before
his breast, and a label, signifying the cause of his punishment.
A gladiator who was practicing with him, and voluntarily threw
himself at his feet, he stabbed with a poniard, and then ran
about with a palm branch in his hand, after the manner of those
who are victorious in the games. When a victim was to be
offered upon an altar, he, clad in the habit of the Popæ, and
holding the axe aloft for a while, at last slaughtered, instead of
the animal, an officer who attended to cut up the sacrifice. And
at a sumptuous entertainment he fell suddenly into a violent fit
of laughter; and upon the consuls who reclined next to him
## p. 14204 (#394) ##########################################
14204
SUETONIUS
»
respectfully asking him the occasion,– "Nothing,” replied he,
“but that upon a single nod of mine you might both have your
throats cut. ”
Among many other jests, this was one: As he stood by the
statue of Jupiter, he asked Apelles the tragedian which of them
he thought was biggest ? Upon his demurring about it, he lashed
him most severely; now and then commending his voice, whilst
he entreated for mercy, as being well modulated even when he
was venting his grief. As often as he kissed the neck of his
wife or mistress, he would say, “So beautiful a throat must be
cut whenever I please; ” and now and then he would threaten
to put his dear Cæsonia to the torture, that he might discover
why he loved her so passionately.
In his behavior towards men of almost all ages, he discovered
a degree of jealousy and malignity equal to that of his cruelty
and pride. He so demolished and dispersed the statues of sev-
eral illustrious persons,— which had been removed by Augustus,
for want of room, from the court of the Capitol into the Campus
Martius, – that it was impossible to set them up again with their
inscriptions entire. And for the future, he forbade any statue
whatever to be erected without his knowledge and leave. He
had thoughts too of suppressing Homer's poems; for “Why,"
,
said he, “may not I do what Plato has done before me, who
excluded him from his commonwealth ? ” He was likewise very
near banishing the writings and the busts of Virgil and Livy
from all libraries: censuring one of them as "a man of no gen-
ius and very little learning, and the other as a verbose and
careless historian. ” He often talked of the lawyers as if he
intended to abolish their profession. By Hercules! ” he would
say, “I shall put it out of their power to answer any legal ques-
tions otherwise than by referring to me! ”
He took from the noblest persons in the city the ancient marks
of distinction used by their families: as the collar from Torqua-
tus; from Cincinnatus the curl of hair; and from Cneius Pompey
the surname of Great, belonging to that ancient family. Ptolemy,
mentioned before, whom he invited from his kingdom, and re-
ceived with great honors, he suddenly put to death; for no other
reason but because he observed that upon entering the theatre,
at a public exhibition, he attracted the eyes of all the spectators
by the splendor of his purple robe. As often as he met with
handsome men who had fine heads of hair, he would order the
## p. 14205 (#395) ##########################################
SUETONIUS
14205
back of their heads to be shaved, to make them appear ridicu-
lous. There was one Esius Proculus, the son of a centurion of
the first rank, who, for his great stature and fine proportions, was
called the Colossal. Him he ordered to be dragged from his seat
in the arena, and matched with a gladiator in light armor, and
afterwards with another completely armed; and upon his worst-
ing them both, commanded him forthwith to be bound, to be led
clothed in rags up and down the streets of the city, and after
being exhibited in that plight to the women, to be then butchered.
There was no man of so abject or mean condition, whose excel-
lency in any kind he did not envy.
COWARDICE AND DEATH OF NERO
OM
N THE arrival of the news that the rest of the armies had
declared against him, he tore to pieces the letters which
were delivered to him at dinner, overthrew the table,
and dashed with violence against the ground two favorite cups,
which he called Homer's because some of that poet's verses
were cut upon them. Then taking from Locusta a dose of poi-
son, which he put up in a golden box, he went into the Servilian
gardens: and thence dispatching a trusty freedman to Ostia, with
orders to make ready a fleet, he endeavored to prevail with some
tribunes and centurions of the prætorian guards to attend him
in his flight; but part of them showing no great inclination to
comply, others absolutely refusing, and one of them crying out
aloud, -
“Usque adeone mori miserum est ? »
[Say, is it then so sad a thing to die? ]
he was in great perplexity whether he should submit himself to
Galba, or apply to the Parthians for protection, or else appear
before the people dressed in mourning, and upon the rostra, in
the most piteous manner, beg pardon for his past misdemeanors,
and if he could not prevail, request of them to grant him at least
the government of Egypt. A speech to this purpose was after-
wards found in his writing-case. But it is conjectured that he
durst not venture upon this project, for fear of being torn to
pieces before he could get to the forum. Deferring therefore
his resolution until the next day, he awoke about midnight, and
finding the guards withdrawn, he leaped out of bed, and sent
## p. 14206 (#396) ##########################################
14206
SUETONIUS
sage in
.
round for his friends. But none of them vouchsafing any mes-
reply, he went with a few attendants to their houses.
The doors being everywhere shut, and no one giving him any
answer, he returned to his bed-chamber, whence those who had
the charge of it had all now eloped; some having gone one way
and some another, carrying off with them his bedding and box
of poison. He then endeavored to find Spicillus the gladiator,
or some one, to kill him; but not being able to procure any one,
« What! ” said he, have I then neither friend nor foe? ” and im-
mediately ran out, as if he would throw himself into the Tiber.
But this furious impulse subsiding, he wished for some place
of privacy, where he might collect his thoughts; and his freed-
man Phaon offering him his country-house, between the Salarian
and Nomentan roads, about four miles from the city, he mounted
a horse, barefoot as he was and in his tunic, only slipping over
it an old soiled cloak; with his head muffled up, and a handker-
chief before his face, and four persons only to attend him, of
whom Sporus was one. He was suddenly struck with horror
by an earthquake, and by a flash of lightning which darted full
in his face; and heard from the neighboring camp the shouts of
the soldiers, wishing his destruction, and prosperity to Galba. He
also heard a traveler they met on the road say, “They are in
pursuit of Nero;” and another ask, “Is there any news in the
city about Nero ? » Uncovering his face when his horse was
started by the scent of a carcass which lay in the road, he was
recognized and saluted by an old soldier who had been discharged
from the guards. When they came to the lane which turned up
to the house, they quitted their horses, and with much difficulty
he wound among bushes and briers, and along a track through a
bed of rushes, over which they spread their cloaks for him to
walk on. Having reached a wall at the back of the villa, Phaon
advised him to hide himself awhile in a sand-pit; when he re-
plied, "I will not go underground alive. ” Staying there some
little time, while preparations were made for bringing him pri-
vately into the villa, he took up in his hand some water out of
a neighboring tank, to drink, saying, “This is Nero's distilled
water. ” Then, his cloak having been torn by the brambles, he
pulled out the thorns which stuck in it. At last, being admitted,
creeping upon his hands and knees through a hole made for him
in the wall, he lay down in the first closet he came to, upon a
miserable pallet, with an old coverlet thrown over it; and being
((
## p. 14207 (#397) ##########################################
SUETONIUS
14207
>
both hungry and thirsty, though he refused some coarse bread
that was brought him, he drank a little warm water.
All who surrounded him now pressing him to save himself
from the indignities which were ready to befall him, he ordered
a pit to be sunk before his eyes, of the size of his body, and the
bottom to be covered with pieces of marble put together, if any
could be found about the house; and water and wood to be got
ready for immediate use about his corpse: weeping at everything
that was done, and frequently saying, "What an artist is now
about to perish! ” Meanwhile, letters being brought in by a sery-
ant belonging to Phaon, he snatched them out of his hand and
there read, “That he had been declared an enemy by the Senate;
and that search was making for him, that he might be pun-
ished according to the ancient custom of the Romans. ” He then
inquired what kind of punishment that was; and being told that
the practice was to strip the criminal naked and scourge him to
death, while his neck was fastened within a forked stake, he was
so terrified that he took up two daggers which he had brought
with him, and after feeling the points of both, put them up again,
saying, “The fatal hour has not yet come. ” One while, he begged
of Sporus to begin to wail and lament; another while, he en-
treated that one of them would set him an example by killing
himself; and then again, he condemned his own want of resolu-
tion in these words: “I yet live, to my shame and disgrace: this
is not becoming for Nero; it is not becoming. · Thou oughtest
in such circumstances to have a good heart. Come then; cour-
age, man!
The horsemen who had received orders to bring
him away alive, were now approaching the house.
As soon
he heard them coming, he uttered with a trembling voice the fol-
lowing verse:-
“Ιππων μ' ωκυπόδων αμφί χτύπος ουατα βάλλει:
(The noise of swift-heeled steeds assails my ears;)
>
as
he then drove a dagger into his throat, being assisted in the act
by his secretary Epaphroditus. A centurion bursting in just as
he was dying, and applying his cloak to the wound, pretending
that he was come to his assistance, he made no other reply but
this: «'Tis too late,” and “Is this your loyalty ? ) Immediately
»
after pronouncing these words he expired, with his eyes fixed
and starting out of his head, to the terror of all who beheld him.
## p. 14208 (#398) ##########################################
14208
SUETONIUS
VITELLIUS
E
H
(
>
WAS chiefly addicted to the vices of luxury and cruelty.
He always made three meals a day, sometimes four; break-
fast, dinner, and supper, and a drunken revel after all.
For these several meals he would make different ap-
pointments at the houses of his friends, on the same day. None
ever entertained him at less expense than 400,000 sesterces Cover
$20,000). The most famous was a set entertainment given him
by his brother, at which, it is said, there were served up no less
than two thousand choice fishes and seven thousand birds.
Yet
even this supper he himself outdid, at a feast he gave on the
first use of a dish which had been made for him, and which
for its extraordinary size he called “The Shield of Minerva. ”
In this dish were tossed up together the livers of char-fish, the
brains of pheasants and peacocks, the tongues of flamingoes, and
the entrails of lampreys, which had been brought in ships of
war as far as from the Carpathian Sea and the Spanish Straits.
He was not only a man of insatiable appetite, but would gratify
it at the most unseasonable times, and with any garbage that
came in his way.
He delighted in the infliction of punishments, even capital
ones, without any distinction of persons or occasions. Several
noblemen, his schoolfellows and companions, invited by him to
court, he treated with such flattering caresses as seemed to indi-
cate an affection short only of admitting them to share the hon-
ors of the imperial dignity; yet he put them all to death by
some base means or other. To one he gave poison with his own
hand, in a cup of cold water which he called for in a fever.
He scarcely spared one of all the usurers, notaries, and publicans
who had ever demanded a debt of him at Rome, or any toll
or custom on the road. One of these, while in the very act of
saluting him, he ordered for execution, but immediately sent for
him back; upon which all about him applauding his clemency,
he commanded him to be slain in his own presence, saying, "I
have a mind to feed my eyes. ” Two sons who interceded for
their father, he ordered to be executed with him. A Roman
knight, upon his being dragged away for execution, and crying
out to him, “You are my heir,” he desired to produce his will;
and finding that he had made his freedman joint heir with him,
he commanded that both he and the freedman should have their
throats cut.
## p. 14209 (#399) ##########################################
14209
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
(RENÉ FRANÇOIS ARMAND PRUDHOMME)
(1839-)
BY FIRMIN ROZ
ULLY-PRUDHOMME, born in Paris, May 16th, 1839, is the poet
who best represents the last third of the century. But he
represents it as a poet; that is, in beauty and in noble-
ness, in its most intimate aspirations, in its purest sorrows, in its
most beautiful impulses.
The spirit so freely poured out in romantic lyricism seemed, after
an enchanted rest in the picturesque poetry
of Théophile Gautier and the fancy of Théo-
dore de Banville, to reawaken and come to
itself again. After the period during which
it found the fullest expression, and that
during which it had seemed to forget its
own existence, behold it meditating in the
midst of tumult, and seeking illumination
to guide its way henceforth more prudently.
Leconte de Lisle examines the history of
the beliefs of humanity, and sets forth the
different forms of the Divine dream and
of the conception of life, in the Poèmes SULLY-PRUDHOMME
Antiques) (1853) and the 'Poèmes Barbares)
(1859); which made him, in the absence of Victor Hugo, then in
exile, the acknowledged master of French poetry. Around him are
grouped the poets who were soon to take the name of «Parnassians,"
after the publication of their verses by the publisher Lemerre in
the collection Parnasse Contemporain? (1866). Sully-Prudhomme,
younger by twenty years, came by another way. A very tender
sensibility was united in him to very serious reflection. His educa-
tion had favored these natural tendencies. Reared by a mother in
mourning, who was never consoled for the death of an adored hus-
band,- for whom she had waited ten years, and whom she lost after
four years of marriage, - the child had been placed in school very
young, and had already suffered from “the first loneliness. ) Later,
preparation for the École Polytechnique had developed in him a taste
XXIV—889
-
## p. 14210 (#400) ##########################################
14210
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
for the sciences, and had revealed to him the secrets of their exact
methods. A malady of the eyes obliged him to abandon his studies
just as they were about to be crowned with success. But his mind
retained their impress. The deepest feeling and the most scrupulous
thinking henceforth shared his inspiration; or to express it better,
mingled in and imbued an original poetry which is both analytic and
living, scholarly and emotional. Now sentiment dominates, illumi-
nated by a ray of careful thought (see L'Agonie,' which we cite);
now it is the idea developed, but colored, warmed, penetrated, by
feeling. Such are the delightful collections of the first fifteen years:
(Stances et Poèmes) (1865), "Les Épreuves) (The Tests: 1866), "Les
Solitudes) (1869), “Les Vrais Tendresses' (The True Affections: '1875).
But the philosophical thinking of Sully-Prudhomme did not find
satisfaction in the close analyses or penetrating intuitions which these
poems translated. The conflict of reason and the heart, which is the
drama of our time, tortured the poet. He resolved to consecrate to
it his dearest vigils. From this noble effort two grand philosophi-
cal poems resulted: (La Justice and Le Bonheur' (1888). Doubt-
less philosophic poetry already existed in our literature: Jocelyn'
and the Chute d'un Ange,' some parts of the Contemplation,'
(Eloa, Moise,' and Les Destinées,' are masterpieces. But Sully-
Prudhomme has done something different. For imaginative dreams
of philosophy he has substituted methodical investigation; slow,
prudent, but always anxious, and hence worthy of poetry. And his
ambition has been precisely to reconcile poetry with scientific re-
search, In order to adapt himself to the difficulties of this task,-
“to demand from the strongest and most exact of poets the secret of
subjecting the verse to the idea,” — he began by translating verse by
verse, with rigorous exactness and without altering its strong beauty,
the first book of Lucretius. Then he began upon his great poem,
"La Justice. This poem, very symmetrical in composition, comprises
eleven "vigils,” preceded by a prologue and followed by an epilogue.
After seeking justice in the universe without finding it, the poet dis-
covers it at last in the heart of man, which is its inviolable and
sacred temple. The first six vigils form the first part of the volume
(Silence au Cour' (Heart, Be Silent); the last five are grouped
in a second part entitled Appel au Cour' (Appeal to the Heart).
Each vigil is a dialogue between “The Seeker,” who pitilessly analyzes
every idea or every fact in a sonnet, and "A Voice,” which consoles
and reassures him by revealing the divine aspect of all things.
Le Bonheur? (Happiness) is a symbolic epic. Faustus and Stella,
set free from earth, seek the happiness which they had vainly pur-
sued here below. Neither emotional Intoxication” « Thought”
can realize this ideal so imperiously claimed by all hearts. The third
nor
## p. 14211 (#401) ##########################################
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14211
part, Le Suprême Essor (The Supreme Flight), shows us that sacri-
fice alone can elevate us to a true felicity.
Doubtless there are laborious verses in these two long-winded
works, in which Sully-Prudhomme has attempted the difficult recon-
ciliation of pure thought with poetry. But there are incomparable
beauties, truly new. Never has philosophic poetry been more rigor-
ous, while retaining more of beauty; never has the fusion been so
close between the thought, the sentiment, and the image.
Sully-Prudhomme has published in prose a remarkable study in
æsthetics, 'L'Expression dans les Beaux-Arts? (Expression in the Fine
Arts: 1884); "Réflexions sur l'Art des Vers' (Reflections on the Art of
Versification: 1892); and a philosophical volume (1895) on the nature,
the limitations, and the extent of our learning, Que Sais-je ? (What
Do I Know ? ) His translation of the first book of Lucretius contains
a long preface Upon the state and the future of philosophy. ”
Firmin
Roz
TO THE READER
THESE
HESE flowers I gathered by the highway side,
Where good and evil fate has cast my days:
I dare not give them to you loosely tied;
I'll twine them in a wreath — to win more praise.
Still fresh, the rose is weeping tear on tear;
The pansy lifts her eye of purple hue;
Then the calm lilies, dreamers of the mere,
And budding corn; - and there my life lies too.
And thine too, reader, - is't not even so ?
One fate is always ours in joy or woe,-
To weep love's tears, and think, but never know,
How we have lost in dreaming spring's best day.
.
Then comes the hour when we would rise from play,
And plant some seed before we pass away.
## p. 14212 (#402) ##########################################
14212
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
UNKNOWN FRIENDS
NE line
One Re-ope the wound whose smart is not forgot
;
The word that doth another's sufferings tell
May drop like tears on our own anguished spot,
Where heart misjudged awaits its soothing spell.
My verse, perchance, may reach you and restore,
With lightning flash, the sleeping grief of old;
Or by that one true word — long waited for
The sudden name of all you feel unfold,
Nor tell the eyes from whom I learnt my lore.
THE MISSAL
A
MISSAL of the first King Francis's reign,
Rusted by years, with many a yellow stain,
And blazons worn, by pious fingers prest,-
Within whose leaves, enshrined in silver rare
By some old goldsmith's art in glory drest,
Speaking his boldness and his loving care,
This faded flower found rest.
How very old it is! you plainly mark
Upon the page its sap in tracery dark.
« Perhaps three hundred years ? » What need be said ?
It has but lost one shade of crimson dye;
Before its death it might have seen that flown:
Needs naught save wing of wandering butterfly
To touch the bloom
-'tis gone.
It has not lost one fibre from its heart,
Nor seen one jewel from its crown depart;
The page still wrinkles where the dew once dried,
When that last morn was sad with other weeping;
Death would not kill, - only to kiss it tried,
In loving guise above its brightness creeping,
Nor blighted as it died.
A sweet but mournful scent is o'er me stealing,
As when with memory wakes long-buried feeling;
That scent from the closed casket slow ascending
Tells of long years o'er that strange herbal sped.
## p. 14213 (#403) ##########################################
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14213
Our bygone things have still some perfume blending,
And our lost loves are paths, where roses' bloom,
Sweet e'en in death, is shed.
At eve, when faint and sombre grows the air,
Perchance a lambent heart may flicker there,
Seeking an entrance to the book to find;
And when the Angelus strikes on the sky,
Praying some hand may that one page unbind,
Where all his love and homage lie, —
The flower that told his mind.
Take comfort, knight, who rode to Pavia's plain
But ne'er returned to woo your love again;
Or you, young page, whose heart rose up on high
To Mary and thy dame in mingled prayer!
This flower which died beneath some unknown eye
Three hundred years ago,- you placed it there,
And there it still shall lie.
LA CHARPIE
A
SOMBRE night, a starless sky!
Jeanne sits, her heart with weeping sore,
The cloth unwinding patiently
For soldiers wounded in the war.
Her lover to the war is gone:
His kiss yet fresh — 'twas but to-day:
Her brothers too! She sits alone:
They marched with him this morn away.
Now booms more closely on her ears
The cannon's summons, stern and loud,
“Surrender! Famine! ” Then she hears
Her City's “No” in answer proud.
Her holy task at last is o'er;
Has it not brought her spirit rest?
When suddenly her humble door
By timid hand is softly pressed.
A stranger girl is standing there
Within the door, her eyes as blue
## p. 14214 (#404) ##########################################
14214
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
As heaven, her features pale, her hair
Of gold, her dress of sombre hue.
And these her words:-Jeanne, have no fear,
The red cross on my arm I show;
My name and all that brings me here -
Oh, let me in ! - you soon shall know.
“At home they call me Margaret;
I've wandered from the banks of Rhine
For him on whom my heart is set:
Oh, let me in! Your grief is mine;
“By the same fears our hearts are torn;
Oh, by our youth, our love, our pain,
We're sisters now! leave hate and scorn
For deadly fight on yonder plain.
Together we'll our charpie weave:
For blood knows naught of colors two;
Those grow alike who love and grieve:
We'll weep together, I and you! ”
She, ere the words had left her lips,
The charpie threads asunder tore,
Working with trembling finger-tips
For soldiers wounded in the war.
ENFANTILLAGE
M"
Y LADY! you were little then:
Twelve years were mine;
Soon forgotten were your lovers,
All left to pine.
When we played among the others,
You still I sought;
When small hands were intertwining,
'Twas yours I caught.
As in gold and purple glory,
Poised o'er the rose,
Tells the butterfly his story,
All his heart glows;
## p. 14215 (#405) ##########################################
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14215
Leaf by leaf, still nearer drawing,
Is yet too shy
All the honey-dew to gather
She holds so nigh:
So my heart was yearning wildly
Your lips to press;
'Twas your slender fingers only
I dared caress.
Through me thrilled a sudden rapture,
Then keen as woe:
What gave joy and pain such meeting ?
Love – long ago.
Twelve years only — and a lover!
'Tis not common.
You too, Lady — were you feeling
Like a woman ?
Did there come some thought bewildering
As, half afraid,
With your frock and with your dolly
You stood and played ?
-
If I praised too soon a poet –
Your tiny feet,
Too soon fair, you leant and touched me
With magic sweet.
I at least have ne'er forgotten
That even-tide
When we set up house together,-
Bridegroom and bride.
Gems you dreamed of;—I dreamed over
My vow to you!
Both were older than our years were,
Both different too!
We played at the dance and dinner:
You wished it so,-
Said that proper weddings must have
Some pomp and show.
You enjoyed it as a pastime,–
I thought it true,
## p. 14216 (#406) ##########################################
14216
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
Told my love aloud, and whispered
« Dearest to you.
On your cheek I ventured, dreaming,
One kiss to leave.
Play for me has all been over
Since that spring eve.
AU BORD DE L'EAU
Tºs
sit and watch the wavelets as they flow,
Two,-side by side ;
To see the gliding clouds that come and go,
And mark them glide;
If from low roofs the smoke is wreathing pale,
To watch it wreathe;
If flowers around breathe perfume on the gale,
To feel them breathe;
If the bee sips the honeyed fruit that glistens,
To sip the dew;
If the bird warbles while the forest listens,
To listen too;
Beneath the willow where the brook is singing,
To hear its song;
Nor feel, while round us that sweet dream is clinging,
The hours too long;
To know one only deep o'ermastering passion, -
The love we share;
To let the world go worrying in its fashion
Without one care —
We only, while around all weary grow,
Unwearied stand,
And midst the fickle changes others know,
Love - hand in hand.
## p. 14217 (#407) ##########################################
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14217
CE QUI DURE
HO
ow cold and wan the present lowers,
O my true Love! around us twain;
How little of the Past is ours !
How changed the friends who yet remain.
We cannot without envying view
The eyes with twenty summers gay;
For eyes 'neath which our childhood grew
Have long since passed from earth away.
Each hour still steals our youth; alas!
No hour will e'er the theft restore:
There's but one thing that will not pass,-
The heart I loved thee with of yore.
That heart which plays in life its part,
With love elate, with loss forlorn,
Is still — through all — the child's pure heart
My mother gave when I was born.
That heart, where nothing new can light,
Where old thoughts draw their cherished breath,-
It loves thee, dear, with all the might
That Life can wield in strife with Death.
If it of Death the conqueror be,
If there's in Man some nobler part
That wins him immortality,
Then thou hast, Love! that deathless heart.
IF YOU BUT KNEW
I
F YOU but knew the tears that fall
For life unloved and fireside drear,
Perhaps, before my lonely hall,
You would pass near.
If you but knew your power to thrill
My drooping soul by one pure glance,
One look across my window-sill
You'd cast perchance.
## p. 14218 (#408) ##########################################
14218
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
If you but knew what soothing balm
One heart can on another pour,
Would you not sit - a sister calm
Beside my door ?
And if you knew I loved you well,
And loved you too with all my heart,
You'd come to me, with me to dwell,
And ne'er depart.
SEPARATION
W"
E WANDERED down, at dawn of day,
A narrow path — heart close to heart;
At noon, upon the world's highway,
I walk to right, you left - apart.
No more we have our heaven together.
How bright is yours! How black is mine!
Your choice is still the sunniest weather,
I keep the side where naught will shine.
Where'er you walk, gleams round you play -
The very sand has diamond beads;
No beams e'er light with gladdening ray
The cold gray soil my footstep treads.
Bird-songs and whispers full of sweets,
Caressing, woo your eye and ear;
Your hair the breeze, adoring, greets;
Your lip the bee, entranced, draws near.
And I - I can but sing and sigh;
My heart's deep wound is ill at ease;
From leaf-hid nests the fondling cry
Disturbs me more than it can please.
But Love! a sky forever bright
May make too keen our mortal joy;
The air's embrace has too much might;
The incense e'en of flowers may cloy.
Then yearns the soul for that calm rest
That closes round at closing day,
With half-shut eye, on some true breast
To watch Life's fever ebb away.
## p. 14219 (#409) ##########################################
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14219
Will you not come and take your seat
By that highway at evening-fall?
I'll wait you there. We two shall meet
Where one deep shadow wraps it all.
THE DEATH AGONY
Y*
E who are watching when my end draws near,
Speak not, I pray!
'Twill help me most some music faint to hear,
And pass away.
For song can loosen, link by link, each care
From life's hard chain.
So gently rock my griefs; but oh, beware!
To speak were pain.
I'm weary of all words: their wisest speech
Can naught reveal;
Give me the spirit-sounds minds cannot reach,
But hearts can feel.
Some melody which all my soul shall steep,
As tranced I lie,
Passing from visions wild to dreamy sleep,-
From sleep to die.
Ye who are watching when my end draws near,
Speak not, I pray!
Some sounds of music murmuring in my ear
Will smooth my way.
My nurse, poor shepherdess! I'd bid you seek;
Tell her my whim:
I want her near me, when I'ın faint and weak
On the grave's brim.
I want to hear her sing, ere I depart,
Just once again,
In simple monotone to touch the heart
That Old World strain.
You'll find her still, - the rustic hovel gives
Calm hopes and fears;
But in this world of mine one rarely lives
Thrice twenty years.
## p. 14220 (#410) ##########################################
14220
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
Be sure you leave us with our hearts alone,
Only us two!
She'll sing to me in her old trembling tone,
Stroking my brow.
She only to the end will love through all
My good and ill;
So will the air of those old songs recall
My first years still.
And dreaming thus, I shall not feel at last
My heart-strings torn,
But all unknowing, the great barriers past,
Die- as we're born.
Ye who are watching when my end draws near,
Speak not, I pray!
'Twill help me most some music faint to hear,
And pass away.
The above translations were all made by E. and R. E. Prothero.
## p. 14220 (#411) ##########################################
## p. 14220 (#412) ##########################################
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## p. 14221 (#415) ##########################################
14221
CHARLES SUMNER
(1811-1874)
HARLES SUMNER was born in Boston, January 6th, 1811. His
name is inscribed on the roll of men of letters; but it is
e indeed writ larger, and more familiarly known, upon a
somewhat different page. There can be no doubt, however, that the
effective orator has an honored place among literary artists. In fact
some men, weary of fictitious pathos and useless tears, might be
tempted to give the highest honors, even in the art of expression,
not to epic poet or romancer, but to him who in a vital crisis sways
a doubting Senate or a reluctant mob to heroic decision and action.
And this learned jurist, this many-sided indefatigable scholar, this
puritanic reformer and persistent doctrinaire, was an inspiring orator,
a powerful preacher of political ethics and civic righteousness.
Perhaps there has been no more typical example of that earlier
Bostonian culture, with its high standards, than Charles Sumner. He
knew nothing of such early hardships, such a struggle for intellectual
life, as Lincoln's. He followed his grandfather and his father from
the best classical schools to Harvard College, where he graduated in
1830. When he came of age he was already Judge Story's favorite
pupil. At twenty-five he was widely known, even to European
scholars, through his learned essays in the Jurist, and had pub-
lished several volumes of legal Reports' which are still standard
works of reference. His interest was deepest in the large problems
of international law. In England, thanks to Judge Story's enthusias-
tic letters and his own modest worth, he had such popularity and
social success no young American of private station had ever
enjoyed. He was repeatedly invited to a seat beside the judges in
the highest English courts.
From his three happy years in England, France, Italy, and Ger-
many (1837-1840), he returned to the rather uncongenial and un-
remunerative practice of law in his native Boston. He was not only
learned in history and kindred fields, but a trained connoisseur in
music and art as well. Naturally he was one of the favorites in
the brilliant circle centring about the Ticknors. His lifelong friend-
ships with Longfellow, and others of the group, were already firmly
knit. A casual remark of his at this period indicates an ambition to
become some day president of Harvard College. Judge Story's dying
as
## p. 14222 (#416) ##########################################
14222
CHARLES SUMNER
(
desire was that Charles Sumner should fill his chair in the Harvard
Law School.
But in that very year, this industrious many-sided scholar had sud-
denly discovered the sterner purpose for which his life had thus far
been the preparation. He was invited to deliver the Fourth of July
oration, in the presence of the citizen militia, on the eve of the war
of conquest against Mexico. His speech, on "The True Grandeur of
Nations,' was a fervent protest against all war as a survival of bar-
barism.
In the next autumn - eight years later than his old schoolmate
Phillips — he plunged into the Abolition agitation. His speech in
November 1845 at once gave him a leading place in the political
wing of the movement. The social ostracism and ridicule he had to
face cannot have disturbed his lofty soul. The partial abandonment
of his cherished studies no doubt cost him an inward struggle. But
there was no hesitation, when the call grew clear to him.
« ( Forego thy dreams of lettered ease;
Lay thou the scholar's promise by:
The rights of man are more than these. )
He heard, and answered: Here am I. ) »
It was in 1851 that a fusion of Free-Soilers and Democrats made
Sumner United States Senator from Massachusetts. He succeeded
Webster, and Clay left the Senate on the day Sumner entered it.
Mr.
