No More Learning

That evening her face was drawn, her lips
stuck to her gums, she vomited; and the next day, feeling her-
self very low, she summoned a priest.
Three kind women were with her when she received extreme
unction. Then she declared that she must speak to Fabu.
He came in his Sunday clothes, ill at ease in this mournful
atmosphere.
"Forgive me," she said, trying to hold out her arm. "I
thought you killed him. ”
What did she mean by such nonsense? To suspect a man
like him of murder! —and he grew angry and was going to storm.
"She has lost her mind, that's plain enough. "
From time to time Félicité talked to visions. The good
women went away. Mother Simonne breakfasted.
A little later she took Loulou and carried him to Félicité.
"Come, say good-by to him! "
He was no longer a body: the worms were eating him; one
of his wings was broken, the tow was bursting out of his breast.
But blind now, she kissed his head and held him against her
cheek. Then Mother Simonne took him back to the altar.
The odor of summer came from the pastures; flies were buzz-
ing. The sun made the river sparkle and warmed the slates.
Mother Simonne, who had returned, was calmly sleeping.
The church bells woke her. Félicité's delirium left her. As
she thought about the procession, she saw it as clearly as if she
had followed it.


## p. 5833 (#421) ###########################################

GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
5833
T
All the school-children, the choristers, and the firemen were
walking on the sidewalks, while in the middle of the street the
Swiss with his halberd came first, then the beadle with a great
cross, the schoolmaster watching the boys, the nun anxious
about her little girls; three of the prettiest looking like angels
with their curled hair, throwing rose-leaves in the air; the dea-
con with outstretched arms leading the music; and two censer-
swingers turning toward the Holy Sacrament at every step,
as four vestrymen carried it along under a red velvet canopy;
then the priest in his fine chasuble. A crowd of people pressed
on behind between the white cloths hung along the houses, and
thus they reached the shore.
Félicité's temples were damp with a cold sweat. Mother
Simonne wiped it off with a linen cloth, telling herself that some
day she too must go through this.
The murmur of the crowd grew plainer, was very strong for
a moment, and then began to die away.
A discharge of guns shook the windows. The postilions
Félicité rolled her eyes and said in the
were saluting the Host.
lowest possible tone:-
"Is he all right? "- troubled about the parrot.
Her final agony began. A death-rattle shook her more and
more. There were bubbles of foam in the corners of her mouth,
and her whole body trembled.
Soon they could hear the music again, the clear voices of
the children and the deep voices of men. At intervals all were
quiet, and the sound of footsteps, deadened by the flowers,
seemed like cattle on the turf.
The clergy entered the court, and Mother Simonne climbed
on a chair, so that she could look down upon the altar from the
little round window.
Green wreaths were hung on the altar, which was adorned
with English lace. In the middle was a little box containing
relics; two orange-trees stood in the corners; and along the front
were ranged silver candlesticks and china vases with sunflowers,
lilies, peonies, foxgloves, and bunches of hydrangea. This mass
of sparkling color sloped down from the highest stage to the
carpet, and was prolonged on the pavement; and there were
curiosities to attract the attention. A bird in silver-gilt had a
crown of violets; pendants of Alençon gems sparkled from the
moss; two Chinese screens displayed their landscapes. Loulou,


## p. 5834 (#422) ###########################################

5834
GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
hidden behind the roses, showed only his blue crest like a bit of
lapis lazuli.
The vestrymen, the choristers, and the children ranged them-
selves along three sides of the court. The priest slowly mounted
the steps and set upon the lace his large golden sun, which
sparkled as he did so. All knelt down. There was a solemn
silence. And the censers, swinging freely, slipped up and down
their slender chains.
A blue vapor mounted to Félicité's room. She breathed it in
with a mystical sensuality, and then closed her eyelids. Her lips
were smiling. Her heart beat more and more slowly, more
gently and uncertainly like a spring which is growing exhausted,
like an echo which is sinking away; and as she breathed for the
last time, she seemed to see in the opening heavens a gigantic
parrot hovering above her head.
SALAMMBO PREPARES FOR HER JOURNEY
From Salammbô›
IT
T WAS the season when the doves of Carthage migrated to the
mountain of Eryx in Sicily, there nesting about the temple
of Venus. Previous to their departure, during many days,
they sought each other, and cooed to reunite themselves; finally
one evening they flew, driven by the wind, and this large white
cloud glided in the heaven, very high above the sea.
The horizon was crimson. They seemed gradually to descend
to the waves, then disappear as though swallowed up, and falling
of their own accord into the jaws of the sun. Salammbô, who
watched them disappear, lowered her head. Taanach, believing
that she surmised her mistress's grief, tenderly said:-
"But mistress, they will return. ”
"Yes, I know it. "
"And you will see them again. ”
"Perhaps! " Salammbô said, as she sighed.
She had not confided to any one her resolution, and for its
discreet accomplishment she sent Taanach to purchase in the
suburbs of Kinisdo (instead of requiring them of the stewards)
all the articles it was necessary she should have: vermilion, aro-
matics, a linen girdle, and new garments. The old slave was


## p. 5835 (#423) ###########################################

GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
5835
amazed by these preparations, without daring to ask any ques-
tions; and so the day arrived, fixed by Schahabarim, when Sa-
lammbô must depart.
Toward the twelfth hour she perceived at the end of the
sycamores an old blind man, whose hand rested on the shoulder
of a child who walked before him, and in the other hand he held
against his hip a species of cithara made of black wood.
The eunuchs, the slaves, the women, had been scrupulously
sent away; no one could possibly know the mystery that was
being prepared.
Taanach lighted in the corners of the room four tripods full
of strobus and cardamom; then she spread out great Babylonian
tapestries and hung them on cords all round the room,- for
Salammbô did not wish to be seen even by the walls. The
player of the kinnor waited crouching behind the door, and the
young boy, standing up, applied his lips to a reed flute. In
the distance the street clamor faded, the violet shadows length-
ened before the peristyles of the temples, and on the other side,
of the gulf the base of the mountain, the olive-fields, and the
waste yellow ground indefinitely undulated till finally lost in a
bluish vapor; not a single sound could be heard, and an in-
describable oppression pervaded the air.
Salammbô crouched on the onyx step on the edge of the
porphyry basin; she lifted her wide sleeves and fastened them
behind her shoulders, and began her ablutions in a methodical
manner, according to the sacred rites.
Next Taanach brought to her an alabaster phial containing
something liquid, yet coagulated; it was the blood of a black
dog, strangled by barren women on a winter's night in the ruins
of a sepulchre. She rubbed it on her ears, her heels, and the
thumb of her right hand; and even the nail remained tinged a
trifle red, as if she had crushed a berry.
The moon rose; then, both at once, the cithara and the flute
commenced to play. Salammbô took off her earrings, laid aside
her necklace, bracelets, and her long white simarra; unknotted
the fillet from her hair, and for some minutes shook her tresses
gently over her shoulders to refresh and disentangle them.
The music outside continued; there were always the same three
notes, precipitous and furious; the strings grated, the flute was
high-sounding and sonorous. Taanach marked the cadence by
striking her hands; Salammbô, swaying her entire body, chanted


## p. 5836 (#424) ###########################################

5836
GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
her prayers, and one by one her garments fell around her on the
floor.
The heavy tapestry trembled, and above the cord that sus-
tained it the head of the Python appeared. He descended slowly,
like a drop of water trickling along a wall, and glided between
the stuffs spread out, then poised himself on his tail; he lifted
himself perfectly straight up, and darted his eyes, more brilliant
than carbuncles, upon Salammbô.
A shudder of cold, or her modesty perhaps, at first made her
hesitate. But she recalled the order of Schahabarim, so she went
forward; the Python lowered himself, alighting upon the nape of
her neck in the middle of his body, allowing his head and tail
to hang down like a broken necklace, and the two ends trailed
on the floor. Salammbô rolled them around her sides, under her
arms, between her knees; then taking him by the jaw, she drew
his little triangular mouth close to her teeth; and with half-
closed eyes she bent back under the moon's rays. The white
light seemed to enshroud her in a silvery fog; the tracks of her
wet feet shone on the stones; stars twinkled in the depths of the
water; the Python tightened against her his black coils speckled
with spots of gold. Salammbô panted under this too heavy
weight; her loins gave way, she felt that she was dying; the
Python patted her thighs softly with his tail: then the music
ceased, and he fell down.
Taanach drew near to Salammbô, and after arranging two
candelabra, of which the lights burned in two crystal globes
filled with water, she tinted with henna the inside of the hands
of her mistress, put vermilion on her cheeks, antimony on her
eyelids, and lengthened her eyebrows with a mixture of gum,
musk, ebony, and crushed flies' feet.
Salammbô, sitting in a chair mounted with ivory, abandoned
herself to the care of her slave. But the soothing touches, the
odor of the aromatics, and the fasts she had kept, enervated her;
she became so pale that Taanach paused.
"Continue! " said Salammbô; and as she drew herself up in
spite of herself, she felt all at once reanimated. Then an impa-
tience seized her; she urged Taanach to hasten, and the old
slave growled :-
"Well, well, mistress!
You have no one waiting for
you elsewhere! "
"Yes! " responded Salammbô:
((
some one waits for me. "


## p. 5837 (#425) ###########################################

GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
5837
Taanach started with surprise, and in order to know more
she said:
―
"What do you order me to do, mistress, if you should remain
away ? »
――――
Do not go!
But Salammbô sobbed, and the slave exclaimed: -
"You suffer! What is the matter with you?
Take me! When you were a little one and wept, I held you to
my heart and suckled you, and made you laugh. Now I am old!
I can do nothing for you! You do not love me any more! You
hide your troubles from me; you disdain your nurse! With
fondness and vexation the tears coursed down her face, in the
scars of her tattooing.
>>
"No! " said Salammbô; "no: I love you; be comforted! "
Taanach, with a smile like the grimace of an old monkey,
recommenced her task. Following the directions of the priest,
Salammbô ordered her slave to make her magnificent. Taanach
complied, with a barbaric taste full of elaboration and ingenuity.
Over a first fine wine-colored tunic she placed a second one,
embroidered with birds' plumes. Golden scales were fastened to
her hips; from her wide girdle flowed the folds of her blue,
silver-starred petticoat-trousers. Then Taanach adjusted an am-
ple robe of rare stuff from the land of the Seres, white, varie-
gated with green stripes. She attached over Salammbô's shoulders
a square of purple, made heavy at the hem with beads of sandas-
trum; and on the top of all these vestments she arranged a
black mantle with a long train. Then she contemplated her, and
proud of her work, she could not keep from saying:-
"You will not be more beautiful on the day of your nup-
tials! "
"My nuptials! " repeated Salammbô in a reverie, as she leaned
her elbow on the ivory chair.
Taanach held up before her mistress a copper mirror, wide
and long enough for her to view herself completely. She stood
up, and with a light touch of one finger put back a curl that
dropped too low on her forehead. Her hair was powdered with
gold, crimped in front, hanging down her back in long twists,
terminating in pearls. The light from the candelabra heightened
the color on her cheeks, the gold throughout her garments, and
the whiteness of her skin. She wore around her waist, on her
arms, hands, and feet, such a profusion of jewels that the mirror,
reflecting like a sun, flashed back prismatic rays upon her; and


## p. 5838 (#426) ###########################################

5838
GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
Salammbô stood beside Taanach, leaning and turning around on
all sides to view herself, smiling at the dazzling effect.
She walked to and fro, embarrassed by the time that she needs
must tarry.
Suddenly the crow of a cock was heard. She quickly pinned
over her hair a long yellow veil, passed a scarf around her neck,
and buried her feet in blue leather buskins, saying to Taanach:
"Go, see under the myrtles if there is not a man with two
horses. "
Taanach had scarcely re-entered before Salammbô descended
the stairway of the galleys.
་ Mistress! " called out the slave. Salammbô turned around
and placed one finger on her lips, in sign of discretion and
silence.
Taanach crept quietly the length of the prows as far as the
base of the terrace, and in the distance by the moonlight she
distinguished in the cypress avenue a gigantic shadow, moving
obliquely to the left of Salammbô: this was a foreboding of
death.
Taanach went back to her room, threw herself on the floor,
tore her face with her finger-nails, pulled out her hair, and uttered
shrill yells at the top of her voice.
Finally the thought came to her that some one might hear;
then she was quiet, and sobbed very low, with her head between
her hands and her face laid flat on the stones.
THE SACRIFICE TO MOLOCH
From Salammbô›
A
SECTION of the wall of the temple of Moloch was removed,
in order to pull the brazen god through without disturbing
the ashes on the altar. As soon as the sun rose, the sacred
slaves of the temple pushed him to the square of Khamoûn.
He moved backwards, sliding over cylinders; his shoulders
overtopped the walls; from the farthest point the Carthaginians
who perceived him fled with speed, for it was impossible to con-
template the Baal with impunity, save in the exercise of his
wrath.
An odor of aromatics was wafted through the streets. All the
temples were thrown open simultaneously, and tabernacles upon


## p. 5839 (#427) ###########################################

GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
5839
Great
chariots, or on litters which pontiffs carried, issued forth.
plumes of feathers nodded at their corners, and rays flashed from
their pointed spires, terminated by globes of crystal, gold, silver,
or copper.
These were the Canaanite Baalim, reproductions of the su-
preme Baal, returning towards their essence to humble them-
selves before his power, and be lost in his splendor. The canopy
of Melkarth, of fine purple, sheltered a flame of bitumen oil;
while upon that of Khamoûn, which was of hyacinth color, was
erected an ivory phallus bordered with a circle of gems: between
the curtains of Eschmoûn, blue as the ether, a Python slept,
describing a circle as it bit its tail; and the Dii-Pataci, held in
the arms of their priests, their heels dragging on the ground,
resembled large babies in swaddling-clothes.
The brazen statue continued to move towards the square of
Khamoun. The Rich, carrying sceptres with emerald apples,
started from the far end of Megara; the Elders, crowned with
diadems, assembled in Kinisdo; and the masters of finance, the
governors of provinces, merchants, soldiers, sailors, and the
numerous horde employed at funerals, all displaying the insignia
of their magistracy or the instruments of their vocations, con-
verged towards the tabernacles that descended from the Acropo-
lis between the colleges of pontiffs.
In deference to Moloch, they were all bedecked with their
most splendid jewels. Diamonds sparkled over their black ap-
parel; but their rings, now too wide, loosely fell from their
emaciated hands, and nothing could be more lugubrious than
that silent concourse, where brilliant earrings struck against pal-
lid faces, and where gold tiaras encircled foreheads wrinkled by
an atrocious despair.
Finally the Baal attained the centre of the square.
His pon-
tiffs made an inclosure with trellises to keep back the multitude,
and remained themselves at his feet, surrounding him.
The priests of Khamoûn, in reddish woolen robes, aligned
before their temple under the columns of the portico; those
of Eschmoûn, in white linen mantles, with collars of the heads
of hoopoes, wearing conical tiaras, established themselves on
the steps of the Acropolis; the priests of Melkarth, in violet
tunics, took their position on the western side; the priests of the
Abaddirs, swathed in bands of Phrygian stuffs, placed themselves
on the eastern side; and ranged on the southern side with the


## p. 5840 (#428) ###########################################

5840
GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
necromancers, all covered with tattooings, were the howlers in
patched mantles, the priests of the Dii-Pataci, and the Yidonim,
who divined the future by placing a bone of a dead body in
their mouths. The priests of Ceres, habited in blue robes, had
prudently stopped in Satheb Street, intoning in a low voice a
thesmophorion in Megarian dialect.
Meantime a fire of aloe, cedar, and laurel wood burned be-
tween the legs of the Colossus. His long wings buried their
points in the flame; the unguents with which he had been rubbed
now trickled like sweat over his brazen limbs. About the round
stone upon which his feet rested, children, enveloped in black
veils, formed a motionless circle; and his inordinately long arms.
allowed the palms of his hands to reach down to them, as if to
seize this crown and convey it to the sky.
The Rich, the Elders, the women, and in fact the entire mul-
titude, thronged behind the priests and on the terraces of the
houses. The large painted stars revolved no longer; the taber-
nacles were placed on the ground, and the smoke from the cen-
sers rose on high perpendicularly, like gigantic trees spreading
their bluish boughs to the centre of the azure. Many of the
spectators fainted; others became inert and petrified in their
ecstasy; an infinite agony pressed heavily upon their hearts.
The clamors one by one died out, and the people of Carthage
panted in silence, absorbed in the terror of their desire.
At last the high priest of Moloch passed his right hand be-
neath the children's veils, and pulled out a lock of hair from
each of their foreheads, which he threw into the flames. Then
the men in red mantles intoned a sacred hymn:-
"Homage to thee, O Sun! King of the two Zones! Creator,
self-begotten! Father and Mother! Father and Son! God and
Goddess! Goddess and God! " and their voices were lost in the
explosion of countless instruments, sounding all together to
smother the cries of the victims. The scheminith with eight
strings, the kinnor with ten, and the nebel with twelve, all
twanged, whistled, and thundered forth. Enormous leather bot-
tles stuck full of tubes emitted a sharp rolling noise; the tam-
bourines, beaten with all possible force, resounded with heavy,
rapid blows; and despite the fury of the clarions, the salsalim
clicked like the wings of locusts.
The sacred slaves with a long hook opened the seven com-
partments ranged in the body of the Baal. Into the highest
―


## p. 5841 (#429) ###########################################

GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
5841
division farina was introduced; into the second, two turtle-doves;
into the third, an ape; into the fourth, a ram; into the fifth, a
lamb; and into the sixth, as they did not possess an ox, a tanned
hide from the sanctuary was substituted; the seventh aperture
remained gaping.
Before a human victim should be offered, it was deemed best
to test the arms of the god. Slender chainlets, passing from the
fingers over his shoulders, descended at the back, which men
pulled downward, raising to the height of his elbows his two
open hands, that in approaching each other came opposite his
belly. They worked them several times successively with little.
jerks. Then the musical instruments were hushed, and the fire
roared fiercely.
The pontiffs of Moloch walked to and fro on the large stone
slab, examining the multitude.
The first offering must be an individual sacrifice, an oblation
perfectly voluntary, which would be effectual to incite others.
But no one came forward, and the seven alleys leading from the
barrier to the Colossus remained completely empty. To stimu-
late the people, the priests pulled from their girdles little stilet-
tos, with which they slashed their faces. The Devotees, who
had been stretched on the ground outside, were introduced into
the inclosure, and a packet of horrible irons was thrown to them:
each one chose his torture. They passed spits through their
breasts, slit their cheeks, put upon their heads crowns of thorns;
then they enlaced their arms together, and surrounding the child-
ren, they formed another great circle, ever contracting and ex-
panding. Having reached the balustrade, they threw themselves
back, only to eddy outwards again, continually attracting to them.
the crowd, by the vertigo of their movements, full of blood and
cries.
Gradually the people, thus incited, came into the end of the
alleys, and threw into the flames pearls, gold vases, cups, all their
treasures, and flambeaux.
These offerings became more and more splendid, and kept
multiplying. Presently a man who staggered, a man pale and
hideous from terror, pushed forward a child; then could be dis-
tinguished between the hands of the Colossus a little black mass-
it sank into the dark opening. The priests leaned over the edge
of the large slab, and a new chant burst out, celebrating the joys
of death and the renascence of eternity.
X-366


## p. 5842 (#430) ###########################################

5842
GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
The children mounted up slowly, and as the smoke rose in
lofty whirling masses, they seemed from afar to disappear in a
cloud. Not one moved. All had been securely bound hand and
foot, and the dark drapery prevented them from seeing anything,
and from being recognized.
Hamilcar, in a red mantle like that of the priests of Moloch,
remained near the Baal, standing before the great toe of his right
foot. When the fourteenth child was put in, all the people saw
that he made a demonstrative gesture of horror, but quickly
resuming his attitude of composure, he crossed his arms, and
gazed on the ground.
On the other side of the Colossus the
grand pontiff likewise remained motionless, bowing his head, upon
which was an Assyrian mitre, and observing on his breast the
gold plaque covered with prophetic stones, which threw out iri-
descent lights as the flames struck across them. He grew pale
and abstracted.
Hamilcar inclined his head, and they were both so near the
pyre that the hem of their robes in rising from time to time
swept it.
Moloch's brazen arms moved more rapidly; they no longer
paused. Each time a child was placed upon them, the priests of
Moloch extended their hands over the victim to charge upon it
the sins of the people, vociferating:-
"These are not men, but oxen! " and the multitude around
repeated, "Oxen! Oxen! " The Devotees screamed out, "Lord!
eat! " and the priests of Proserpine, conforming in terror to Car-
thage's need, mumbled their Eleusinian formula: "Pour forth
rain! conceive! " No sooner were the victims placed on the verge
of the aperture than they vanished, like a drop of water on a
red-hot plate, and whiffs of white smoke curled up through the
scarlet glow.
Yet the appetite of the god was not appeased; he still wanted
more. In order to supply him, the children were piled on his
hands, and were retained there by a great chain.
In the beginning, Devotees tried to count them, in order to
note if the total number corresponded to the days of the solar
year; but now so many were piled on that it was impossible to
distinguish them during the dizzy movements of those horrible.
arms. All this lasted a long time, until nightfall. Then the
interior divisions gave a most sombre glare. For the first time,
the burning flesh was visible. Some people even fancied that
they recognized hair, limbs, and entire bodies.


## p. 5843 (#431) ###########################################

GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
5843
The day fell; clouds gathered over the head of the Baal. The
pyre, now flameless, made a pyramid of glowing embers that
reached to his knees; and all crimson, like a giant covered with
blood, with head bent backward, he seemed to reel under the
weight of his intoxication. According as the priests urged haste,
the frenzy of the people augmented; as the number of victims
decreased, some cried out to spare them, others that Moloch must
have more. It seemed as though the walls, with their masses of
spectators, would crumble beneath the yells of horror and of
mystic voluptuousness. Then came into the alleys some faithful
ones, dragging their children, who clung to them; and they beat
the little hands to make them loose their hold, that they might
deliver them to the red men.
Occasionally the musicians paused from sheer exhaustion; and
in the lull could be heard the screams of mothers and the crack-
ling of the grease spattering on the coals. The mandrake-drinkers
crept on all-fours around the Colossus, roaring like tigers. The
Yidonim prophesied; the Devotees chanted with their cleft lips.
The railings were broken, for now all wanted to participate in
the sacrifice; and fathers whose children were deceased cast into
the yawning furnace their effigies, toys, and preserved bones.
Those who possessed knives rushed upon the others; they cut
each other's throats in their voracious rage, maddened by the
holocaust. The sacred slaves, with bronze winnowing-baskets,
took from the edge of the stone slab the fallen cinders, which
they tossed high in the air, that the sacrifice should be dispersed
over the entire city, and attain to the region of the stars.
The tumultuous noise and vast illumination had attracted the
Barbarians to the very foot of the walls. Climbing upon the ruins
of the helepolis, they looked on, gaping with horror.


## p. 5844 (#432) ###########################################

5844
PAUL FLEMING
(1609-1640)
EW names in that sterile period of German history which fol-
lowed the century of the Reformation have won a lasting
place in literature. In Gryphius the most gifted dramatist,
in Opitz the greatest literary influence, and in Fleming the most
genuine lyric poet of his time, the spirit of German letters still flick-
ered; and Fleming, though humbly subordinating himself to the dom-
ination of Opitz, was nevertheless the genius in whom the spirit
shone brightest.
PAUL FLEMING
Paul Fleming was born on October 5th, 1609, and the years of his
brief life were those of universal disaster, when Germany was made
the battle-ground of the contending nations.
Fleming studied medicine in Leipsic, but
meanwhile devoted himself so ardently to
the development of his poetic gifts, that
while still a student he received the Im-
perial crown of poetry. In 1630 he met
Opitz, who, with a group of new German
poets in his train, held the leadership of
what is known to students as the First
Silesian School. Fleming's reverence for
this skillful but mechanical versifier was
unbounded. It was not until three days
before his early death that Fleming seemed
to catch a glimpse of his own superiority;
in the touching lines which he composed
as his own epitaph, he wrote, "No countryman of mine sang like
me;" and certain it is that in his work is displayed more sponta-
neity and greater depth of feeling than in that of the more famous
leader. There is a strain of lofty pathos in Fleming's poetry that
reminds of Schiller; and if it sometimes has a hollow sound, that
lay in the character of the unreal time when the nations were fight-
ing for moribund ideas, and when thought was sicklied o'er with the
cast of pseudo-classical affectation. Brave men were exalted as gods
and faithful officials as heroes, with the entire apparatus of myth-
ological metaphor. And yet in Fleming's verse is revealed a deep
and genuine piety, a broad humanity, and a healthy patriotism. His
religious poems, through which he strove to keep his mind fixed



## p. 5845 (#433) ###########################################

PAUL FLEMING
5845
above the strife of parties and the demoralizing cruelty of that time
of incessant war, are still favorites in the German hymnals of to-day.
His love lyrics and sonnets, not always free from the affectations of
his school, are yet the expression of true feeling and delicate fancy.
The destruction of Meissen and the death of Gustavus Adolphus
were among the saddening experiences of Fleming's early life, but it
was not to escape the disquieting events at home that sent him on
distant travels: it was rather passion for travel and a love of the
exotic. This passion found gratification in the appointment he re-
ceived as a member of a Holstein embassy to Russia and Persia, in
the service of which nearly six years of his life were passed.
It was
a life full of adventure by land and sea; there were bloody encoun-
ters in Persia, and twice the party suffered shipwreck. It was an
experience that greatly widened the scope of his poetic material, as
the Oriental coloring of the poems written during those six years
shows.
Fleming's love life had its sorrows: the woman of his choice, dur-
ing his long absence in the East, married another; he thereupon
became engaged to a younger sister, who had in the mean time
ripened into womanhood. They were to be married in Hamburg; but
while he was awaiting her arrival, he fell sick and died, on April
2d, 1640, in his thirty-first year.
Fleming never won the high place in the estimation of the great
contemporary public to which his genius entitled him; formalism pre-
vailed, Opitz overshadowed him, the war crushed all but martial
genius. Many of Fleming's poems have been lost, but enough re-
main to justify the claim that he was the one genuinely inspired
lyric poet of the period of the Thirty Years' War.
TO MYSELF
L'
ET nothing make thee sad or fretful,
Or too regretful;
Be still;
What God hath ordered must be right;
Then find in it thine own delight,
My will.
Why shouldst thou fill to-day with sorrow
About to-morrow,
My heart?
One watches all with care most true;
Doubt not that he will give thee too
Thy part.
1


## p. 5846 (#434) ###########################################

5846
PAUL FLEMING
Only be steadfast; never waver,
Nor seek earth's favor,
But rest:
Thou knowest what God wills must be
For all his creatures, so for thee,
The best.
Translation of Catherine Winkworth.
ON A LONG AND PERILOUS JOURNEY
WRITTEN ON A JOURNEY TO RUSSIA AND PERSIA, UNDERTAKEN BY THE
AUTHOR AS PHYSICIAN TO THE EMBASSY FROM HOLSTEIN
WHE
HERE'ER I go, whate'er my task,
The counsel of my God I ask,
Who all things hath and can;
Unless He give both thought and deed,
The utmost pains can ne'er succeed,
And vain the wisest plan.
For what can all my toil avail?
My care, my watching all must fail,
Unless my God is there;
Then let him order all for me
As he in wisdom shall decree;
On him I cast my care.
For naught can come, as naught hath been,
But what my Father hath foreseen,
And what shall work my good;
Whate'er he gives me I will take,
Whate'er he chooses I will make
My choice with thankful mood.
I lean upon his mighty arm,-
It shields me well from every harm,
All evil shall avert;
If by his precepts still I live,
Whate'er is useful he will give,
And naught shall do me hurt.
But only may he of his grace
The record of my guilt efface
And wipe out all my debt;


## p. 5847 (#435) ###########################################

PAUL FLEMING
5847
Though I have sinned, he will not straight
Pronounce his judgment,- he will wait,
Have patience with me yet.
I travel to a distant land
To serve the post wherein I stand,
Which he hath bade me fill;
And he will bless me with his light,
That I may serve his world aright,
And make me know his will.
And though through desert wilds I fare,
Yet Christian friends are with me there,
And Christ himself is near;
In all our dangers he will come,
And he who kept me safe at home
Can keep me safely here.
Yes, he will speed us on our way,
And point us where to go and stay,
And help us still and lead;
Let us in health and safety live,
And time and wind and weather give,
And whatsoe'er we need.
When late at night my rest I take,
When early in the morn I wake,
Halting or on my way,
In hours of weakness or in bonds,
When vexed with fears my heart desponds,
His promise is my stay.
Since, then, my course is traced by him,
I will not fear that future dim,
But go to meet my doom,
Well knowing naught can wait me there
Too hard for me through him to bear;
I yet shall overcome.
To him myself I wholly give,
At his command I die or live,
I trust his love and power:
Whether to-morrow or to-day
His summons come, I will obey,—
He knows the proper hour.


## p. 5848 (#436) ###########################################

5848
PAUL FLEMING
But if it please that love most kind,
And if this voice within my mind
Be whispering not in vain,
I yet shall praise my God ere long
In many a sweet and joyful song,
In peace at home again.
To those I love will he be near,
With his consoling light appear,
Who is my shield and theirs;
And he will grant beyond our thought
What they and I alike have sought
With many tearful prayers.
Then, O my soul, be ne'er afraid;
On Him who thee and all things made
With calm reliance rest;
Whate'er may come, where'er we go,
Our Father in the heavens must know
In all things what is best.
TO MY RING
GO, fair emerald; my loving message take
S°
To her who has my heart, and rest thou well content
That henceforth thou art hers to whom I have thee sent;
Thy purity her hand will only purer make.
Be with her if she sleep; be with her if she wake;
She'll ask thee oft of me and what thy message meant.
Be thou like other gems: within thy brightness pent,
Keep what thou seest hid, for her and my sweet sake.
And if it come to pass that she, in thoughts half lost,
Should press her lips to thee, then save the kiss for me
Until the evening come. Unless the zephyrs see
The imprint of her kiss, and, enviously crossed,
Demand to bring it me, ere I to claim it go,
Then send it me by them, and let no mortal know.
Translation of Charles Harvey Genung.


## p. 5849 (#437) ###########################################

5849
JEAN PIERRE CLARIS DE FLORIAN
(1755-1794)
EAN PIERRE CLARIS DE FLORIAN was born of an impoverished
family at the Château de Florian in Languedoc, 1755. His
education, conducted by the best of masters, was begun in
his own home and continued under the guidance of Voltaire, who
was his kinsman and who admired his intelligence and abilities. The
great master obtained for the young poet a place in the household
of the Duc de Penthièvre, who granted him a commission of captain
in one of his own regiments. It was after several years of attention
to his military duties that Florian produced
his pastoral romance Galatea' (1782), com-
posed during the leisure hours of his
service. It seems worthy of remark that
Cervantes, the author of Don Quixote,'
of which Florian was later on to render so
acceptable a version to his compatriots,
should have produced as an early work
(if it was not his first) a pastoral bearing
the same title.

The Galatea was followed by two vol-
umes of dramatic pieces, and by another
of short novels of the sentimental type;
his next work, called 'Estelle,' enjoyed JEAN P. C. DE FLORIAN
great popularity, and together with his
'Numa Pompilius (1786) placed him in the front rank of contempo-
rary literature. He was enrolled as a member of the Academies
of Lyons, Florence, and Madrid, and on the death of the Cardinal de
Luynes he was admitted into the Academy of Paris, the honor which
he had most coveted.
During the tyranny of Robespierre, Florian was thrown into
prison, his position with the Duc de Penthièvre and some verses in
honor of Marie Antoinette serving as pretexts for his detention; and
in spite of the ceaseless efforts of Boissy D'Anglas and Mercier he
would doubtless have been sent to the guillotine, had not the down-
fall of the tyrant procured his release.
He left his prison with shattered health, and retired to the Parc
de Scéaux, the estates of the Duc de Penthièvre, where he expired
of a fever, September 13th, 1794.


## p. 5850 (#438) ###########################################

5850
JEAN PIERRE CLARIS DE FLORIAN
Florian's style is typical of his times, although he showed an ele-
ment of conservatism. His works were carefully written, and bear
the marks of an elegant and delicate fancy without the impression
of strength. His 'Numa Pompilius' seems to have been modeled on
the Telemachus' of Fénelon. 'Gonzalve de Cordoue,' another of
his romances, is in a more modern manner, although it opens with
an invocation to the "Chaste nymphs of the Guadalquivir. " Florian,
in fine, is best known to-day by his fables, which have become
classic side by side with those of La Fontaine.
The following translations of Florian were made for A Library of the
World's Best Literature,' by Thomas Walsh
A
THE CONNOISSEUR
FAT and pompous paroquet,
Free from his cage by hazard set,
Established him as connoisseur
Within a grove, when he, like those
Our critics false, began to slur
At everything with stuck-up nose:
The nightingale should trim her song.
Her cadences seemed rather poor:
The linnet he could not endure;
The thrush, perhaps, would get along
Could he but teach her for a while,-
That is, if she would aim at style.
Thus, none of all could please him—none;
And when their morning songs awoke,
The paroquet whistled, for a joke,
And kept it up till day was done.
Outraged at this unruly fate,
A deputation came in state,
Requesting him with curtsies low:
"Good sir, who always whistle so,
Inform us, pray, where we offend:
We wish to have a song from you:
Come, show us how we may amend. "
The paroquet, abashed, replied,
Scratching his head on either side,
"Whistling, my friends, is all I do. "
-


## p. 5851 (#439) ###########################################

JEAN PIERRE CLARIS DE FLORIAN
THE COURTIERS
A
PERSIAN king went out one day
To hunt with all his courtiers gay;
And growing thirsty, looked around
To see could any spring be found.
In vain; but near, an orchard stood
With ripened fruits in multitude.
"Now Lord forbid," exclaimed the King,
"That I should take a single thing;
For if my courtiers see me do't,
It means good-by to all the fruit. "
THE DYING ROSE-TREE
ROSE-TREE, rose-tree, thou wert fair
When to thy cool retreat I came,
To hear and give the promise there
Our love should ever be the same.
O
How fair, oh then how fair, thy flowers
When his dear lap they rested on:
The buds that used to deck thy bowers
Are faded and forever gone.
'Twas sweet with water from the stream
To cool thy boughs with tender fears;
Now parched and dying do they seem,
For they are watered but with tears.
O rose-tree, rose-tree, thou wilt die;
And yet my heart thirsts more than thine:
I languish-would like thee could I,
Sweet rose-tree, this sad life resign!
SERENADE
ITHDRAW thy beams, thou moon unkind:—
Sweet night, my tender secret keep;
Bear thou my sorrows, gentle wind,
And whisper them where she doth sleep.
W
All else beside, who would not know
The pain her heavenly glances make,
Sleep on, sleep on; for if you wake
Yon must be rivals in my woe!
5851


## p. 5852 (#440) ###########################################

5852
JEAN PIERRE CLARIS DE FLORIAN
L
SONG
OVELY Idol of my soul,
Victim of a wounded heart,-
See my grief beyond control;
Live, sweet one, do not depart!
For myself do I implore:
Live, or I can live no more!
Thou hast told me o'er and o'er
That thy heart was mine alone;
Thou art all my earthly store,
And thou desirest to be gone.
For myself do I implore:
Live, or I can live no more.
My destiny is bound with thine,
But yet I cannot stay thy fate;
Oh, what a bitter lot is mine
That I must live-disconsolate!
For myself do I implore:
Live, or I can live no more!


## p. 5853 (#441) ###########################################

5853
FOLK-SONG
BY F. B. GUMMERE
S IN the case of ballads, or narrative songs, it was important
to sunder not only the popular from the artistic, but also
the ballad of the people from the ballad for the people;
precisely so in the article of communal lyric one must distinguish
songs of the folk-songs made by the folk-from those verses of
the street or the music hall which are often caught up and sung by
the crowd until they pass as genuine folk-song. For true folk-song,
as for the genuine ballad, the tests are simplicity, sincerity, mainly
oral tradition, and origin in a homogeneous community. The style of
such a poem is not only simple, but free from individual stamp; the
metaphors, employed sparingly at the best, are like the phrases which
constantly occur in narrative ballads, and belong to tradition. The
metre is not so uniform as in ballads, but must betray its origin in
song. An unsung folk-song is more than a contradiction,-it is an
impossibility. Moreover, it is to be assumed that primitive folk-songs
were an outcome of the dance, for which originally there was no music
save the singing of the dancers. A German critic declares outright
that for early times there was «<
no dance without singing, and no
song without a dance; songs for the dance were the earliest of all songs,
and melodies for the dance the oldest music of every race. " Add to
this the undoubted fact that dancing by pairs is a comparatively mod-
ern invention, and that primitive dances involved the whole able-bodied
primitive community (Jeanroy's assertion that in the early Middle
Ages only women danced, is a libel on human nature), and one begins
to see what is meant by folk-song; primarily it was made by the sing-
ing and dancing throng, at a time when no distinction of lettered and
unlettered classes divided the community. Few, if any, of these prim-
itive folk-songs have come down to us; but they exist in survival,
with more or less trace of individual and artistic influences. As we
cannot apply directly the test of such a communal origin, we must
cast about for other and more modern conditions.
When Mr. George Saintsbury deplores "the lack, notorious to this
day, of one single original English folk-song of really great beauty,"
he leaves his readers to their own devices by way of defining this
species of poetry. Probably, however, he means the communal lyric
in survival, not the ballad, not what Germans would include under
volkslied and Frenchmen under chanson populaire. This distinction, so


## p. 5854 (#442) ###########################################

5854
FOLK-SONG
often forgotten by our critics, was laid down for English usage a cen-
tury ago by no less a person than Joseph Ritson. "With us," he said,
"songs of sentiment, expression, or even description, are properly
called Songs, in contradistinction to mere narrative compositions,
which now denominate Ballads. "
Notwithstanding this lucid statement, we have failed to clear the
field of all possible causes for error. The song of the folk is differ-
entiated from the song of the individual poet; popular lyric is set
over against the artistic, personal lyric. But lyric is commonly as-
sumed to be the expression of individual emotion, and seems in its
very essence to exclude all that is not single, personal, and conscious
emotion. Professor Barrett Wendell, however, is fain to abandon this
time-honored notion of lyric as the subjective element in poetry, the
expression of individual emotion, and proposes a definition based
upon the essentially musical character of these songs. If we adhere
strictly to the older idea, communal lyric, or folk-song, is a contra-
diction in terms; but as a musical expression, direct and unreflective,
of communal emotion, and as offspring of the enthusiasm felt by a
festal, dancing multitude, the term is to be allowed. It means the
lyric of a throng. Unless one feels this objective note in a lyric, it
is certainly no folk-song, but merely an anonymous product of the
schools. The artistic and individual lyric, however sincere it may
be, is fairly sure to be blended with reflection; but such a subjective
tone is foreign to communal verse-whether narrative or purely
lyrical. In other words, to study the lyric of the people, one must
banish that notion of individuality, of reflection and sentiment, which
one is accustomed to associate with all lyrics. To illustrate the mat-
ter, it is evident that Shelley's 'O World, O Life, O Time,' and
Wordsworth's 'My Heart Leaps Up,' however widely sundered may
be the points of view, however varied the character of the emotion,
are of the same individual and reflective class. Contrast now with
these a third lyric, an English song of the thirteenth century, pre-
served by some happy chance from the oblivion which claimed most
of its fellows; the casual reader would unhesitatingly put it into the
same class with Wordsworth's verses as a lyric of "nature," of
"joy," or what not, — an outburst of simple and natural emotion. But
if this Cuckoo Song' be regarded critically, it will be seen that pre-
cisely those qualities of the individual and the subjective are want-
ing. The music of it is fairly clamorous; the refrain counts for as
much as the verses; while the emotion seems to spring from the
crowd and to represent a community. Written down-no one can
say when it was actually composed-not later than the middle of the
thirteenth century, along with the music and a Latin hymn interlined
in red ink, this song is justly regarded by critics as communal rather


## p. 5855 (#443) ###########################################

FOLK-SONG
5855
than artistic in its character; and while it is set to music in what
Chappell calls "the earliest secular composition, in parts, known to
exist in any country," yet even this elaborate music was probably
"a national song and tune, selected according to the custom of the
times as a basis for harmony," and was "not entirely a scholastic
composition. " It runs in the original:-
SUMER is icumen in.
Lhude sing cuccu.
Groweth sed
And bloweth med
And springth the wde nu.
Sing cuccu.
Awe bleteth after lomb,
Lhouth after calve cu;
Bulluc sterteth,
Bucke verteth,
Murie sing cuccu.
Cuccu, cuccu.
Wel singes thu cuccu,
Ne swik thu naver nu.
BURDEN
Sing cuccu nu. Sing cuccu.
Sing cuccu. Sing cuccu nu. ¹
The monk, whose passion for music led him to rescue this charm-
ing song, probably regretted the rustic quality of the words, and did
his best to hide the origin of the air; but behind the complicated
music is a tune of the country-side, and if the refrain is here a
burden, to be sung throughout the piece by certain voices while
others sing the words of the song, we have every right to think of
an earlier refrain which almost absorbed the poem and was sung by
¹ For facsimile of the MS. , music, and valuable remarks, see Chappell,
'Ballad Literature and Popular Music of the Olden Time,' Vol. i. , frontispiece,
and pages 21 ff. For pronunciation, see A. J. Ellis, Early English Pronuncia-
tion,' ii. , 419 ff. The translation given by Mr. Ellis is:-
<
"Summer has come in; loudly sing, cuckoo! Grows seed and blossoms
mead and springs the wood now. Sing, cuckoo! Ewe bleats after lamb, lows
after (its) calf the cow; bullock leaps, buck verts (seeks the green); merrily
sing, cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo! Well singest thou, cuckoo; cease thou not
never now. Burden. - Sing, cuckoo, now; sing, cuckoo! Sing, cuckoo, sing
cuckoo, now. "- Lhude, wde (— wude), awe, calve, bucke, are dissyllabic.
Mr. Ellis's translation of verteth is very doubtful.


## p. 5856 (#444) ###########################################

5856
FOLK-SONG
a dancing multitude. This is a most important consideration. In all
parts of Europe, songs for the dance still abound in the shape of a
welcome to spring; and a lyrical outburst in praise of the jocund
season often occurs by way of prelude to the narrative ballad: wit-
ness the beautiful opening of Robin Hood and the Monk. ' The
troubadour of Provence, like the minnesinger of Germany, imitated
these invocations to spring. A charming balada of Provence prob-
ably takes us beyond the troubadour to the domain of actual folk-
song. "At the entrance of the bright season," it runs, "in order to
begin joy and to tease the jealous, the queen will show that she is
fain to love. As far as to the sea, no maid nor youth but must join
the lusty dance which she devises. On the other hand comes the
king to break up the dancing, fearful lest some one will rob him of
his April queen. Little, however, cares she for the graybeard; a gay
young 'bachelor' is there to pleasure her.