No More Learning

In a word, the new doctrine will institute the Worship of Woman,
publicly and privately, in a far more perfect way than has ever
been possible. It is the first permanent step towards the wor-
ship of Humanity; which is the central principle of Positivism
viewed either as a philosophy or as a polity.


## p. 3945 (#311) ###########################################

3945
WILLIAM CONGREVE
(1670-1729)
ONGREVE was the most brilliant of all the English dramatists
of the later Stuart period. Born at Bardsley, near Leeds, in
1670, he passed his childhood and youth in Ireland, and was
sent to the University of Dublin, where he was highly educated; and
on finishing his classical studies he went to London to study law and
was entered at the Middle Temple. He had two ambitions, not alto-
gether reconcilable to shine in literature and to shine in society.
His good birth, polished manners, and witty conversation procured
him entrance to the best company; but the
desire for literary renown had the mastery
at the start. His first work was 'Incog-
nita,' a novel of no particular value, pub-
lished under the name of "Cleophil. " In
1693 he wrote The Old Bachelor,' a com-
edy; it was brought out with a phenomenal
cast. Under the supervision of Dryden,
who generously admired the author, it
achieved triumph; and Montagu, then Lord
of the Treasury, gave him a desirable
place (commissioner for licensing hackney-
coaches) and the reversion of another. The
plot is not interesting, but the play is cele-
brated for its witty and eloquent dialogue,
which even Sheridan did not surpass; it has a lightness which noth-
ing that preceded it had equaled. The characters are not very ori-
ginal, yet it has variety and diverting action.
Returning now to his rival ambition, that of achieving social suc-
cess, Congreve pretended that he had merely "scribbled a few scenes
for his own amusement," and had yielded unwillingly to his friends'
desire to try his fortune on the stage. But in 1694 he brought out
his second play, 'The Double Dealer. ' It was not a favorite, though
in it all the powers which made a success of 'The Old Bachelor'
were present, mellowed and improved by time. The dialogue is light
and natural; but the grim and offensive characters of Maskwell and
Lady Touchwood disgusted even an audience of the seventeenth cen-
tury. Dryden, however, wrote a most ingenious piece of commenda-
tory verse for the play; gradually the public came to his way of

WILLIAM CONGREVE


## p. 3946 (#312) ###########################################

3946
WILLIAM CONGREVE
thinking; and when, the next year, 'Love for Love' appeared, it was
said that "scarcely any comedy within the memory of the oldest man
had been equally successful. " This play was the triumph of his art;
and it won Congreve a share in the theatre in which it was played,
-the new theatre which Betterton and others had opened near Lin-
coln's Inn. Jeremy, the gentleman's gentleman, is delightfully witty,
- he has "the seeds of rhetoric and logic in his head,” — and Valen-
tine's mock madness is amusing; but as Sir Sampson remarks of him,
"Body o' me, he talks sensibly in his madness! has he no inter-
vals? " Jeremy replies, "Very short, sir. "
In about two years Congreve produced 'The Mourning Bride,' a
tragedy which was over-lauded, but stands high among the dramas
of the century. It ranks with Otway's Venice Preserved' and 'The
Fair Penitent. ' A noble passage describing the temple, in Act ii. ,
Scene 3, was extolled by Johnson. The play was successful, and is
more celebrated than some far better plays. But Congreve was
unequal to a really great flight of passion; tragedy was out of his
range; though he was now hailed, at the age of twenty-seven, as the
first tragic as well as the first comic dramatist of his time.
Now, however, a reformer arose who was destined to make his
mark on the English drama. The depravation of the national taste
which had made the success of Congreve, Wycherley, Farquhar, and
others, was the result of a reaction against the Puritan strictness
under the Commonwealth. Profligacy was the badge of a Cavalier,
and Congreve's heroes exactly reproduced the superficial fine gentle-
man of a time when to be a man of good breeding it was necessary
to make love to one's neighbor's wife, even without preference or
passion.
In the plays of this period nearly all the husbands are
prim, precise, and uncomfortable, while the lovers are without excep-
tion delightful fellows. The Puritan writers regarded an affair of
gallantry as a criminal offense; the poet of this period made it an
elegant distinction.
Jeremy Collier came to change all this. He was a clergyman and
a high-churchman, fanatical in the cause of decency. In 1698 he
published his 'Short View of the Profaneness and Immorality of the
English Stage,' and threw the whole literary world into convulsions.
He attacked Congreve, among others, somewhat injudiciously, not
only for his sins against decency but for some unreal transgressions;
and he had at his command all the weapons of ridicule and indigna-
tion. The country sided with the eloquent preacher, but waited for
some champion — Dryden presumably - to pick up the gauntlet.
Dryden however declined, acknowledging later that Collier was in the
right. Congreve stepped in "where angels feared to tread," and suc-
ceeded in putting himself entirely in the wrong. His reply was dull,


## p. 3947 (#313) ###########################################

WILLIAM CONGREVE
3947
and he was unwise enough to show anger. Collier's cause remained
in the ascendant, and with the younger race of poets who now came
forward a reform began.
In 1700 Congreve wrote one more play, 'The Way of the World,'
the most brilliant and thoughtful of his works. Lady Wishfort's
character is perhaps too repulsive for comedy, though the reader,
carried on by the ease and wit of the dialogue, will accept her.
Mirabell's brilliant chase and winning of Millamant; the diverting
character of Witwould, an incarnation of feeble repartee; and the
love scene in Act v. , Scene 5, in which both lady and gentleman are
anxious and willing to be free and tolerant, are original and amusing
studies. But whether it was the influence of his defeat by Collier
or not, this play, the best comedy written after the civil war, failed
on the stage.
Congreve produced nothing more of consequence, though he lived
for twenty-eight years in the most brilliant society that London
afforded; he suffered from gout and from failing eyesight, and by
way of consolation contracted a curious friendship with the Duchess
of Marlborough, widow of the great Marlborough, with whom he
passed a part of every day. In the summer of 1728 he met with an
accident while driving, and died from the effects of it in January,
1729. The Duchess buried him with pomp; he lay in state in the
Jerusalem Chamber, and was interred in Westminster Abbey.
Congreve was held in the highest esteem by his fellow writers,
and Pope dedicated to him his translation of the Iliad. Yet he
would not hear his literary works praised, and always declared that
they were trifles. When Voltaire during his visit to England
desired to see him, Congreve asked that he would "consider him
merely as a gentleman. " "If you were merely a gentleman," said
Voltaire, "I should not care to see you. "
Congreve was not a great poet, but he had more wit than any
English writer of the last two centuries except Sheridan; he had at
the same time great skill in character-drawing and in constructing
plots. The profligacy of his plays was the natural consequence of a
period of Puritanical austerity. While not free from the blame of
intentional indecency, he at least lacks the brutality and coarseness
of Wycherley, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar.


## p. 3948 (#314) ###########################################

3948
WILLIAM CONGREVE
MRS. FORESIGHT AND MRS. FRAIL COME TO AN UNDER-
STANDING
From 'Love for Love'
Scene:-A Room in the Foresight House. Enter Mrs. Foresight and Mrs.
Frail
RS. FRAIL
What have you to do to watch me? 'Slife, I'll
do what I please.
Mrs. Foresight - You will?
Mrs. Frail-Yes, marry, will I. A great piece of business,
to go to Covent Garden Square in a hackney-coach and take a
turn with one's friend!
M
--
Mrs. Foresight-Nay, two or three turns, I'll take my oath.
Mrs. Frail-Well, what if I took twenty? I warrant if you
had been there, it had been only innocent recreation. Lord,
where's the comfort of this life, if we can't have the happiness
of conversing where we like?
Mrs. Foresight - But can't you converse at home? I own it,
I think there's no happiness like conversing with an agreeable
man; I don't quarrel at that, nor I don't think but your conver-
sation was very innocent; but the place is public, and to be seen
with a man in a hackney-coach is scandalous; what if anybody
else should have seen you alight, as I did?
How can any-
body be happy, while they're in perpetual fear of being seen and
censured? Besides, it would not only reflect upon you, sister,
but me.
Mrs. Frail-Pooh, here's a clutter! Why should it reflect
upon you? I don't doubt but you have thought yourself happy
in a hackney-coach before now. If I had gone to Knightsbridge,
or to Chelsea, or to Spring Garden, or Barn Elms, with a man
alone, something might have been said.
Mrs. Foresight - Why, was I ever in any of those places?
what do you mean, sister?
Mrs. Frail-"Was I? " What do you mean?
Mrs. Foresight - You have been at a worse place.
Mrs. Frail-I at a worse place, and with a man!
Mrs. Foresight - I suppose you would not go alone to the
World's-End.
Mrs. Frail-The world's end! what, do you mean to banter
me?


## p. 3949 (#315) ###########################################

WILLIAM CONGREVE
3949
Mrs. Foresight-Poor innocent! you don't know that there's
a place called the World's-End? I'll swear you can keep your
countenance purely; you'd make an admirable player.
Mrs. Frail-I'll swear you have a great deal of confidence,
and in my mind too much for the stage.
Mrs. Foresight - Very well; that will appear who has most.
You never were at the World's-End?
Mrs. Frail — No.
Mrs. Foresight - You deny it positively to my face?
Mrs. Frail-Your face! what's your face?
Mrs. Foresight - No matter for that; it's as good a face as
yours.
Mrs. Frail- Not by a dozen years' wearing. But I do deny
it positively to your face, then.
Mrs. Foresight - I'll allow you now to find fault with my
face, for I'll swear your impudence has put me out of counte-
nance; but look you here now,- where did you lose this gold
bodkin? O sister, sister!
Mrs. Frail-My bodkin?
Mrs. Foresight-Nay, 'tis yours; look at it.
Mrs. Frail-Well, if you go to that, where did you find this
bodkin? O sister, sister! -sister every way.
Mrs. Foresight [aside]—Oh, devil on't, that I could not
discover her without betraying myself!
Mrs. Frail-I have heard gentlemen say, sister, that one
should take great care, when one makes a thrust in fencing, not
to lay open one's self.
Mrs. Foresight-It's very true, sister; well, since all's out,
and as you say, since we are both wounded, let us do what is
often done in duels,- take care of one another, and grow better
friends than before.
Mrs. Frail-With all my heart: ours are but slight flesh
wounds, and if we keep 'em from air, not at all dangerous:
well, give me your hand in token of sisterly secrecy and affec-
tion.
Mrs. Foresight-Here 'tis, with all my heart.
Mrs. Frail-Well, as an earnest of friendship and confidence,
I'll acquaint you with a design that I have. To tell truth, and
speak openly one to another, I'm afraid the world have observed.
us more than we have observed one another. You have a rich
husband and are provided for; I am at a loss, and have no


## p. 3950 (#316) ###########################################

3950
WILLIAM CONGREVE
great stock either of fortune or reputation; and therefore must
look sharply about me. Sir Sampson has a son that is expected
to-night, and by the account I have heard of his education, can
be no conjuror; the estate, you know, is to be made over to him:
now if I could wheedle him, sister, ha? you understand me?
Mrs. Foresight-I do, and will help you to the utmost of my
power. And I can tell you one thing that falls out luckily
enough; my awkward daughter-in-law, who you know is designed
to be his wife, is grown fond of Mr. Tattle; now if we can
improve that, and make her have an aversion for the booby, it
may go a great way towards his liking you. Here they come
together; and let us contrive some way or other to leave 'em
together.
Scene: A Room in the Foresight House. Enter Angelica and Jenny
Angelica - Where is Sir Sampson? did you not tell me he
would be here before me?
-
Jenny He's at the great glass in the dining-room, madam,
setting his cravat and wig.
ANGELICA'S PROPOSAL
From 'Love for Love'
Angelica - How! I'm glad on't. If he has a mind I should
like him, it's a sign he likes me; and that's more than half my
design.
―
Jenny I hear him, madam.
Angelica - Leave me; and d'ye hear, if Valentine should
come or send, I am not to be spoken with.
Enter Sir Sampson
-
Sir Sampson I have not been honored with the commands
of a fair lady a great while: - odd, madam, you have revived
not since I was five-and-thirty.
me!
Angelica - Why, you have no great reason to complain, Sir
Sampson; that is not long ago.
Sir Sampson-Zooks, but it is, madam; a very great while,
to a man that admires a fine woman as much as I do.
Angelica - You're an absolute courtier, Sir Sampson.
Sir Sampson-Not at all, madam; odsbud, you wrong me; I
am not so old, neither, to be a bare courtier; only a man of


## p. 3951 (#317) ###########################################

WILLIAM CONGREVE
3951
words: odd, I have warm blood about me yet, and can serve a
lady any way. Come, come, let me tell you, you women think
a man old too soon, faith and troth, you do! Come, don't
despise fifty; odd, fifty, in a hale constitution, is no such con-
temptible age.
Angelica-Fifty a contemptible age! not at all; a very
fashionable age, I think. I assure you, I know very consider-
able beaux that set a good face upon fifty. Fifty! I have seen
fifty in a side-box, by candle-light, outblossom five-and-twenty.
Sir Sampson - Outsides, outsides; a pize take 'em, mere out-
sides! hang your side-box beaux! No, I'm none of those, none
of your forced trees, that pretend to blossom in the fall, and bud
when they should bring forth fruit; I am of a long-lived race;
none of my ancestors married till fifty;
I am
of your patriarchs, I, a branch of one of your antediluvian
families, fellows that the flood could not wash away. Well,
madam, what are your commands? has any young rogue affronted
you, and shall I cut his throat? or
Angelica-No, Sir Sampson, I have no quarrel upon my
hands. I have more occasion for your conduct than your cour-
age at this time. To tell you the truth, I'm weary of living
single, and want a husband.
-
Sir Sampson-Odsbud, and 'tis pity you should! -[Aside. ]
Odd, would she would like me, then I should hamper my young
rogues: odd, would she would; faith and troth, she's devilish
handsome! [Aloud. ] Madam, you deserve a good husband, and
'twere pity you should be thrown away upon any of these young
idle rogues about the town. Odd, there's ne'er a young fellow
worth hanging! that is, a very young fellow. Pize on 'em!
they never think beforehand of anything; and if they commit
matrimony, 'tis as they commit murder-out of a frolic, and are
ready to hang themselves, or to be hanged by the law, the next
morning: odso, have a care, madam.
Angelica - Therefore I ask your advice, Sir Sampson.
I have
fortune enough to make any man easy that I can like, if there
were such a thing as a young agreeable man with a reasonable
stock of good-nature and sense;
for I would neither
have an absolute wit nor a fool.
Sir Sampson-Odd, you are hard to please, madam; to find
a young fellow that is neither a wit in his own
in the eye of the world, is a very hard task.
eye nor a fool
But faith and


## p. 3952 (#318) ###########################################

WILLIAM CONGREVE
3952
troth, you speak very discreetly; for I hate both a wit and a
fool.
Angelica-She that marries a fool, Sir Sampson, forfeits the
reputation of her honesty or understanding: and she that mar-
ries a very witty man is a slave to the severity and insolent
conduct of her husband. I should like a man of wit for a lover,
because I would have such a one in my power; but I would no
more be his wife than his enemy. For his malice is not a more
terrible consequence of his aversion than his jealousy is of his
love.
Sir Sampson-None of old Foresight's Sibyls ever uttered
such a truth. Odsbud, you have won my heart! I hate a wit; I
had a son that was spoiled among 'em; a good hopeful lad, till
he learned to be a wit; and might have risen in the State.
But a pox on't! his wit run him cut of his money, and now his
poverty has run him out of his wits.
Angelica - Sir Sampson, as your friend, I must tell you, you
are very much abused in that matter; he's no more mad than
you are.
Sir Samson-How, madam? would I could prove it!
Angelica I can tell you how that may be done. But it is
a thing that would make me appear to be too much concerned
in your affairs.
Sir Sampson [aside] — Odsbud, I believes she likes me!
[Aloud. ] Ah, madam, all my affairs are scarce worthy to be laid
at your feet: and I wish, madam, they were in a better posture,
that I might make a more becoming offer to a lady of your
incomparable beauty and merit. -If I had Peru in one hand,
and Mexico in t'other, and the Eastern Empire under my feet, it
would make me only a more glorious victim to be offered at the
shrine of your beauty.
Angelica - Bless me, Sir Sampson, what's the matter?
Sir Sampson - Odd, madam, I love you! and if you would
take my advice in a husband
—
-
Angelica - Hold, hold, Sir Sampson! I asked your advice for
a husband, and you are giving me your consent. I was indeed
thinking to propose something like it in jest, to satisfy you
about Valentine: for if a match were seemingly carried on
between you and me, it would oblige him to throw off his dis-
guise of madness, in apprehension of losing me; for you know
he has long pretended a passion for me.


## p. 3953 (#319) ###########################################

WILLIAM CONGREVE
3953
Sir Sampson-Gadzooks, a most ingenious contrivance! if
we were to go through with it. But why must the match only
be seemingly carried on? Odd, let it be a real contract.
Angelica - Oh fy, Sir Sampson! what would the world say?
Sir Sampson - Say! they would say you were a wise woman
and I a happy man. Odd, madam, I'll love you as long as I
live, and leave you a good jointure when I die.
Angelica-Ay; but that is not in your power, Sir Sampson;
for when Valentine confesses himself in his senses, he must
make over his inheritance to his younger brother.
Sir Sampson-Odd, you're cunning, a wary baggage! faith
and troth, I like you the better. But I warrant you, I have a
proviso in the obligation in favor of myself. Body o' me, I
have a trick to turn the settlement!
Angelica-Will you? Well, do you find the estate, and leave
the other to me.
Sir Sampson-O rogue! but I'll trust you. And will you con-
sent? is it a match, then?
Angelica - Let me consult my lawyer concerning this obliga-
tion; and if I find what you propose practicable, I'll give you
my answer.
Sir Sampson With all my heart: come in with me and I'll
lend you the bond. You shall consult your lawyer, and I'll
consult a parson. Odzooks, I'm a young man: odzooks, I'm a
young man, and I'll make it appear. Odd, you're devilish hand-
some: faith and troth, you're very handsome; and I am very
young, and very lusty! Odsbud, hussy, you know how to
choose, and so do I; odd, I think we are very well met. Give
me your hand,- odd, let me kiss it; 'tis as warm and as soft –
as what? Odd, as t'other hand; give me t'other hand, and I'll
mumble 'em and kiss 'em till they melt in my mouth.
Angelica- Hold, Sir Sampson: you're profuse of your vigor
before your time: you'll spend your estate before you come to it.
Sir Sampson-No, no, only give you a rent-roll of my pos-
sessions,-ha! baggage!
Odd, Sampson's a very good
name for an able fellow: your Sampsons were strong dogs from
the beginning.
If you
Angelica Have a care, and don't overact your part.
remember, Sampson, the strongest of the name, pulled an old
house over his head at last!
VII-248
-


## p. 3954 (#320) ###########################################

3954
WILLIAM CONGREVE
ALMERIA IN THE MAUSOLEUM
From The Mourning Bride'
Enter Almeria and Leonora
A
LMERIA- It was a fancied noise, for all is hushed.
Leonora It bore the accent of a human voice.
Almeria-It was thy fear, or else some transient wind
Whistling through hollows of this vaulted aisle.
We'll listen.
Leonora - Hark!
Almeria-No, all is hushed and still as death. -'Tis dreadful!
How reverend is the face of this tall pile,
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
To bear aloft its arched and ponderous roof,
By its own weight made steadfast and immovable,
Looking tranquillity! It strikes an awe
And terror on my aching sight; the tombs
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice;
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear
Thy voice - my own affrights me with its echoes.
Leonora - Let us return; the horror of this place,
And silence, will increase your melancholy.
It may my fears, but cannot add to that.
No, I will on: show me Anselmo's tomb;
Almeria
-
Lead me o'er bones and skulls and moldering earth
Of human bodies; for I'll mix with them:
Or wind me in the shroud of some pale corse
Yet green in earth, rather than be the bride
Of Garcia's more detested bed: that thought
Exerts my spirits; and my present fears
Are lost in dread of greater ill. Then show me,
Lead me, for I am bolder grown; lead on
Where I may kneel, and pay my vows again
To him, to Heaven, and my Alphonso's soul.
Leonora - I go; but Heaven can tell with what regret.
Heli-
The Scene opening discovers a place of tombs; one monument fronting the
view greater than the rest
Enter Heli
I wander through this maze of monuments,
Yet cannot find him. - Hark! sure 'tis the voice


## p. 3955 (#321) ###########################################

WILLIAM CONGREVE
3955
―――――――
Leonora Behold the sacred vault, within whose womb
The poor remains of good Anselmo rest,
Yet fresh and unconsumed by time or worms!
What do I see? O Heaven! either my eyes
Are false, or still the marble door remains
Unclosed: the iron gates that lead to death
Beneath, are still wide-stretched upon their hinge,
And staring on us with unfolded leaves.
Almeria-Sure, 'tis the friendly yawn of death for me;
And that dumb mouth, significant in show,
Invites me to the bed where I alone
Osmyn-
Of one complaining. - There it sounds: I'll follow it.
[Exit.
Shall rest; shows me the grave, where nature, weary
And long oppressed with woes and bending cares,
May lay the burden down, and sink in slumbers
Of peace eternal. Death, grim death, will fold
Me in his leaden arms, and press me close
To his cold clayey breast: my father then
Will cease his tyranny; and Garcia too
Will fly my pale deformity with loathing.
My soul, enlarged from its vile bonds, will mount,
Aud range the starry orbs, and milky ways,
Of that refulgent world, where I shall swim
In liquid light, and float on seas of bliss
To my Alphonso's soul. O joy too great!
O ecstasy of thought! Help me, Anselmo:
Help me, Alphonso; take me, reach thy hand;
To thee, to thee I call, to thee, Alphonso:
O Alphonso!
Osmyn ascends from the tomb
Osmyn-
Who calls that wretched thing that was Alphonso?
Almeria-Angels, and all the host of heaven, support me!
Osmyn Whence is that voice, whose shrillness, from the grave,
And growing to his father's shroud, roots up Alphonso?
Almeria-Mercy! Providence! O speak!
Speak to it quickly, quickly! speak to me,
Comfort me, help me, hold me, hide me, hide me,
Leonora, in thy bosom, from the light,
And from my eyes!
Amazement and illusion!
Rivet and nail me where I stand, ye powers;
[Coming forward.


## p. 3956 (#322) ###########################################

3956
WILLIAM CONGREVE
That motionless I may be still deceived.
Let me not stir, nor breathe, lest I dissolve
That tender lovely form of painted air,
So like Almeria. Ha! it sinks, it falls;
I'll catch it ere it goes, and grasp her shade.
'Tis life! 'tis warm! 'tis she! 'tis she herself!
Nor dead nor shade, but breathing and alive!
It is Almeria, 'tis, it is my wife!


## p. 3957 (#323) ###########################################

3957
HENRI CONSCIENCE
(1812-1883)
BY WILLIAM SHARP
ENRI CONSCIENCE (not Hendrik Conscience, as commonly
written, for though the great romancist was a Fleming by
maternal descent and by native sympathy, he was the son
of a naturalized Frenchman and was christened Henri), who is
popularly known as the Walter Scott of Flanders, is with the excep-
tion of Georges Eekhoud the one Belgian author who has succeeded
in gaining the ear of Europe. There is not one of the leading
languages, and few of the less important, into which one or more of
his books have not been translated: indeed,
his works are to be found complete or all
but complete in French, German, Norwe-
gian, and English. One story for example,
'Rikke-Tikke-Tak,' has not only been ren-
dered into every European tongue, but has
been paraphrased to such an extent that
variants of it occur, in each instance as an
indigenous folk-tale, in every land, from
Great Britain in the west to India and
even to China in the east.

HENRI CONSCIENCE
To-day to our changed tastes the tales
of Conscience may seem somewhat insipid,
- that is, in translation; for the style of the
original is characterized by singular verve and charm,- but there
must be a radical appeal in writings which have reached the home-
circle readers of Belgium and Holland, of Germany and of Scandi-
navia, of France and England and America. Born in Antwerp in
1812, of a French father and a Flemish mother, the childhood of
the novelist-to-be was passed during the French domination in the
Netherlands. While a youth, he watched with eager intelligence the
growing pressure of the Dutch yoke upon Flanders, the restless
vicissitudes and memorable events which culminated in the revolution
of 1830 and the separation of Belgium from the neighboring country.
This uprising of the Flemish people was followed by a re-birth of
Flemish literature, of which the informing spirit was Henri Con-
science. Thitherto, the young writers of his day modeled themselves


## p. 3958 (#324) ###########################################

3958
HENRI CONSCIENCE
upon the then all-potent romantic school of literature in France;
moreover, without exception they wrote in French, in accordance
with the all-but universal prejudice that Flemish was merely a patois
used only by the vulgar people. Although Conscience's first literary
efforts martial songs and poems were written in French, he
exclaimed in 1830, when he was only a youth of eighteen, and with
prophetic insight:-"I confess I find in the real Flemish something
indescribably romantic, mysterious, profound, energetic, even savage.
If ever I gain the power to write, I shall throw myself head over
ears into Flemish literature. "
The little Henri was a cripple till his seventh year, and the child's
mother was wont to amuse him by the narration of wonderful tales
of fairies and angels. Later he passed his time in reading forgotten
books that were stowed away in the garret, or in exercising his
creative faculties in inventing local stories for his admiring com-
panions. At his mother's death his father removed to a lonely spot
a mile from the old Antwerp wall, and here was first aroused in the
boy the warm love of nature that is so strongly marked in all his
writings. After acting as assistant master for two years at Delin
College, he in 1830 joined the Belgian patriots as a volunteer.
During the six years of his service in the country he gained an
insight not only into the beauties of nature, but into the lives and
feelings of the Flemish peasantry, into their manners and customs;
he grew intimate with the gentle nobility of their character, which
underlies the stern melancholy of their outward disposition. Con-
science's first important work was written in 1836—after the cessation
of the war-to gain him admission to the Olijftak (Olive Branch),
a literary club of young enthusiasts. 'Het Wonder Jaar' (1566)
was written in Flemish, and was published in Ghent in 1837. This
historical romance, full of color and rich in dramatic incident, gave
the death-blow to the existing didactic prose and poetry, and was
the foundation-stone on which arose the new Flemish school of
literature. Pierre Conscience, however, saw his son's partisanship in
the Flemish literary movement with such displeasure that eventually
the young man had to leave home altogether. His friend Wappers,
the eminent painter, procured him a small appointment in the
department of political archives, which however he lost, owing to a
violent political speech. A funeral oration at the tomb of a director
of the Antwerp Academy was the indirect means of his gaining a
post in the offices of the Academy, where he remained till 1855.
In
1857 he was appointed to the local administration of Courtrai; and
in 1868 the Belgian government conferred on him the title of Con-
servateur des Musées Royaux de Peinture et de Sculpture, a guardian-
ship held by him until his death in 1883.


## p. 3959 (#325) ###########################################

HENRI CONSCIENCE
•
3959
Conscience's literary career divides itself into two periods, and
shows him as historical romancist and as a writer of novels and
short tales. The success of 'Het Wonder Jaar' inspired him to a sec-
ond venture, and in 1858 he published his 'De Leeuw van Vlaen-
deren' (The Lion of Flanders), an undertaking which despite its
subsequent fame brought the author six francs for net profit! He
writes of himself that "the enthusiasm of my youth and the labors
of my manhood were rooted in my love for my country. " To raise
Flanders was to him a holy aim. France threatened Flemish free-
dom: therefore he wrote his two finest historical novels, those which
depict the uprising of the Flemings against French despotism, The
Lion of Flanders' and 'The Peasants' War. '
From the literary point of view the second book is superior to its
predecessor; the plot is not so closely linked to history, and though
there is less regard to historical accuracy, the story gains more in
dramatic unity. As a historical novelist Conscience does not belong
to the school of realism and archæology: in a word, he pertains to
the school of Walter Scott, not to that of Gustave Flaubert. He
writes of himself, "In Holland my works have met with the same
favor from Catholics and Lutherans alike;" yet his Catholic predilec-
tions have in many instances impaired his historical accuracy, and
even deprived his brilliant, vivid History of Belgium' of scientific
value.
To his second period belong his stories, in which he directs his
powers to the task of social regeneration, and of painting the life of
his own day as he saw it around him. In such novels as 'De Gieri-
gaerd' (The Miser), 'De Arme Edelman' (The Poor Nobleman), he
resolved "to apply the glowing steel to the cankered wounds of
which society is dying. " He describes the qualities which equipped
him for his task when he says, "I am one whom God endowed at
least with moral energy and with a vast instinct of affection. " It is
however in the tales of Flemish peasant life,— 'Rikke-Tikke-Tak,’
'How Men Become Painters,' 'What a Mother Can Suffer,' 'The
Happiness of Being Rich,' etc. , that the author's exquisite style
shows itself at its finest. There is nothing in the conception of the
stories to show great inventive talent; but the execution, the way in
which these simple things are recounted, is of the highest artistic
excellence. In the matter of style his dual nationality proved an ad-
vantage; for to the homely vigor of the Teuton he added the grace-
fulness, the sobriety, the sense of measure and proportion, which are
peculiar to the best French prose. Georges Eckhoud, his celebrated
fellow-countryman, says of him:-"In simplicity of form, coupled
with the intensity of the idea expressed, lies the eloquence of this
Flemish author's tales. Thus is explained the popularity of that
--


## p. 3960 (#326) ###########################################

3960
HENRI CONSCIENCE
delicate casket to the furthest ends of the earth, to the simplest as
well as to the most cultivated circles.
The work of Con-
science is like a sociable country-house, a place where men can
regain the simplicity which they had lost through cheating and
deception. "
No better summing-up of the writings of Henri Conscience can be
given than that penned by himself in his biographical notes:-
·
me.
"I write my books to be read by the people. I have always made the
intellectual development and education of the ignorant my aim. . . . I
have sketched the Flemish peasant as he appeared to me. I drew him
calm, peaceable, religious, patriotic, attached to his traditions and opposed
somewhat vehemently to all innovations; in short, as he appeared to me at
that period of my life in 1830, when, hungry and sick, I enjoyed hospitality
and the tenderest care amongst them. I have never inspired my heroes with
the poetic glamour for which I have been reproached; it is they who inspired
And then a man may dwell by preference on the defective side and the
coarseness of the laborer, may sketch him as the slave of drunkenness and
animal passion. I shall not deny the picturesqueness of this work. But
between that and the admission of my delusion there is a wide margin. My
neighbor's heroes are not necessarily mine, nor do I see them in the same
light. People are constantly discussing whether he who paints things in their
darkest colors, or he who sees all in a materialistic light, or he who presents
everything in its happiest form,- whether he who takes a subjective or an
objective point of view,- is right. All I know is,- and it is my settled con-
viction, that a conscientious writer is never wrong; and I believe myself to
be conscientious. »
This is a frank, manly, and honest pronouncement, and will surely
be admitted as such even by those who may not care either for the
matter or manner, the method or the literary principles, of Henri
Conscience. Perhaps the best commentary is, that after a European
success ranking only after that of Scott, Balzac, Dumas, Hugo, and
Hans Andersen, Henri Conscience is still (thirteen years after his
death at an advanced age) a name of European repute; is still, in
his own country, held in highest honor and affection.
Winans Sharpe


## p. 3961 (#327) ###########################################

HENRI CONSCIENCE
3961
THE HORSE-SHOE
From Rikke-Tikke-Tak'
IN
IN THE village of Westmal, some two or three miles from Ant-
werp, on the road toward Turnhout, stood a little smithy, in
which four men - the master and his three journeymen
were busy at various work in the way of their trade; and at the
same time were conversing—as much, that is, as the noise of
hammers and files would let them of Napoleon and his mighty
deeds of war. One of the journeymen, who had lost two fingers
of his left hand, was just beginning a story of the Italian wars,
when two horsemen pulled up before the door, and one of them
called out, "Hola, my men! my horse wants shoeing. "
The journeymen looked curiously at the strangers, who by
this time had dismounted. They were evidently both military
men. One of them had a great scar right across his face and
wore a red riband in his button-hole: the other, though dressed
like a gentleman, seemed in some sort his subordinate; he held
the horse by the bridle and asked, "Which shoe, colonel? "
"The near forefoot, lieutenant," was the reply.
One of the journeymen took the horse and led it into the
shed; and meanwhile the colonel entered the smithy, looked
about him, and took up first one, then another, of the tools, as
if looking out for an old acquaintance. At last he seemed to
have found what he wanted; in one hand he held a heavy pair
of tongs, in the other a hammer, both of which he surveyed with
so peculiar a smile that the journeymen stood round, gaping and
staring in no little amaze.
Meanwhile the iron was in the fire, the bellows panted away,
and a garland of sparks spurted from the glowing coals. The
journeymen stood by the anvil, hammers in hand, till the mas-
ter took the iron from the fire; then began the work of forging.
The colonel evidently took a lively interest in what was going
on; his features lighted up, as they might have done at the
finest music. But when the shoe was taken from the anvil, as
ready for putting on, he eyed it a moment not a little disdain-
fully, took the tongs which held it from the master-smith's hand,
and put it back into the fire.
"That will never do," said he; "the shoe's too clumsy by
half, master. Now, my lads! look alive! blow away! "
And while one of the journeymen, with an
air of great
respect, obeyed his directions, he threw off his coat and bared
―


## p. 3962 (#328) ###########################################

3962
HENRI CONSCIENCE
his sinewy arms. Soon the iron was at a white heat: he turned
it twice or thrice in the fire with all the air of an experienced
hand, laid it on the anvil, and then called to the journeymen in
a cheerful tone:-
"Now, my men! look out! I'll give the time, and we'll turn
out a shoe fit for the Emperor's nags.
So now,
attention:-
'Rikketikketak,
Rikketikketoo;
The iron's warm;
Up with your arm,
Now strike,- one, two,
Rikketikketoo.
Rikketikketak,
Rikketikketoo,
Strike while it is hot,
And tarry not.
Again, one two,
Rikketikketoo. '
There, look at the shoe now!