No More Learning

-


## p. 4136 (#514) ###########################################

4136
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
PHILIP, MY KING
L
OOK at me with thy large brown eyes,
Philip, my King!
For round thee the purple shadow lies
Of babyhood's regal dignities.
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand,
With love's invisible sceptre laden;
I am thine Esther to command,
Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden,
Philip, my King!
Oh the day when thou goest a-wooing,
Philip, my King!
When those beautiful lips are suing,
And some gentle heart's bars undoing,
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there
Sittest all glorified! - Rule kindly,
Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair,
For we that love, ah, we love so blindly,
Philip, my King!
I gaze from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow,
Philip, my King:
Ay, there lies the spirit, all sleeping now,
That may rise like a giant, and make men bow
As to one God-throned amidst his peers.
My Saul, than thy brethren higher and fairer,
Let me behold thee in coming years!
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,
Philip, my King!
A wreath, not of gold, but palm. One day,
Philip, my King,
Thou too must tread, as we tread, a way
Thorny, and bitter, and cold, and gray:
Rebels within thee and foes without
Will snatch at thy crown. But go on, glorious,
Martyr, yet monarch! till angels shout,
As thou sittest at the feet of God victorious,-
"Philip, the King! »


## p. 4137 (#515) ###########################################

DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
4137
TOO LATE
OULD ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
C In the old likeness that I knew,
I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
Never a scornful word should grieve ye,
I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do:
Sweet as your smile on me shone ever,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
Oh to call back the days that are not!
My eyes were blinded, your words were few:
Do you know the truth now, up in heaven,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?
I never was worthy of you, Douglas;
Not half worthy the like of you;
Now all men beside seem to me like shadows
I love you, Douglas, tender and true.
Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas,
Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew,
As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
NOW AND AFTERWARDS
"Two hands upon the breast, and labor is past. "
wo hands upon the breast,
And labor's done;
"Tw
-
Two pale feet crossed in rest,-
The race is won;
Two eyes with coin-weights shut,
And all tears cease;
RUSSIAN PROVERB.
Two lips where grief is mute,
Anger at peace: "
So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot;
God in his kindness answereth not.


## p. 4138 (#516) ###########################################

4138
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
"Two hands to work addressed
Aye for his praise;
Two feet that never rest
Walking his ways;
Two eyes that look above
Through all their tears;
Two lips still breathing love,
Not wrath, nor fears:"
So pray we afterwards, low on our knees.
Pardon those erring prayers; Father, hear these!


## p. 4139 (#517) ###########################################

4139
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
(PAULINE DE LA FERRONAYS)
(1820-1891)
M
ADAME CRAVEN has told the story of her home life in 'Récit
d'une Sour: Souvenirs de Famille' (The Story of a Sister).
She has given a charming idyllic picture of a Catholic
French family-cultivated, simple-minded, and loving, and all ani-
mated by religious fervor. She has depicted with the strength of a
personal experience the hopes and fears of those who see their dear-
est friends dying of consumption. She loves to show the gradual re-
nunciation of life, the ennobling influence of sorrow, the triumph of
faith over death and bereavement. Her affectionate nature, full of
admiring enthusiasm for those she loved, led her to idealize real
people as the characters of her books.
She was born at Paris, but had early advantages of travel unusual
for a French girl. Her father was Ambassador to Berlin; the family
were in Italy for a time; and after her marriage with Augustus
Craven she lived a great deal in his native England. So the titles
of her books reflect a certain cosmopolitan spirit. She was interested
in English politics, and wrote a number of sketches on the subject.
The lives of devout Catholic friends appealed to her strongly, and
she wrote that of Sister Nathalie Narishkine of the Charity Saint
Vincent de Paul, which was cordially indorsed by Cardinal Newman;
and that of Lady Georgiana Fullerton.
Her 'Reminiscences,' recollections of England and Italy, show the
same keenly sympathetic power of observation. She also translated
from the Italian. But her most popular work has been stories. The
Story of a Sister' (1866), a collection of memoirs, was enthusiastically
admired by Catholic readers, and translated into English, was widely
read in England and America. It was followed by several novels, of
which the most popular have been Anne Séverin,' 'Le Mot de
l'Enigme' (The Veil Withdrawn), and 'Fleurange. ' These have all
been translated into English, and the last especially has continued in
favor for twenty years. Here, as in her other books, the author's
strongest desire is to bear witness to the helpful discipline of trouble
and the satisfactions of religion. She treats simple problems of love
and duty, depicts primitive emotion, and deals very little in the com-
plex psychology of later fiction. In a strong, fluent, fervid style she
demonstrates that religious ecstasy is the most perfect of all joy, and
that in Catholicism alone all difficulties may find solution.


## p. 4140 (#518) ###########################################

4140
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
ALBERT'S LAST DAYS
From A Sister's Story'
Ο
NE of these latter days, Albert suddenly threw his arm round
me and exclaimed: "I am going to die, and we might have
been so happy! " O my God! I felt then as if my heart
would really break.
――
JUNE 26TH. Before mass, which was again said at twelve
o'clock at night in his room, Albert looked at me a long time,
and then said with deep feeling, "God bless you! " Then he
made the sign of the cross on my forehead, and added, "And
God bless your mother, too. " After a while he said, "Good-by. "
I seemed surprised, and perhaps frightened, and then he said,
"Good-night," as if to change the sad meaning of the word he
had used. And all the while I wished so much to speak openly
to him of his death. It was I perhaps who prevented it, by my
fear of exciting him. During that last mass, every time that I
looked at him he made me a sign to look at the altar. The
window was open, but the night was quite dark. At the moment
of communion the Abbé Martin de Noirlieu and Albert's father,
who was serving mass, came up to him. The Abbé gave one-
half of the sacred Host to him, and the other to me. Even in
this solemn moment there was something very sweet to me in
this. Albert could not open his lips without much suffering -it
was for this reason that the Abbé Martin had divided the Host;
but even so, he had some difficulty in swallowing, and they were
obliged to give him some water. This disturbed him, but the
Abbé Gerbet-who was present-assured him it did not signify.
Then Albert exclaimed: "My God! Thy will be done! " O my
God! this thanksgiving of his must, I think, have been pleasing
to thee!
Before mass he had said to the Abbé Martin, who was speak-
ing to him of his sufferings, "The only thing I ask of God now
is strength to fulfill my sacrifice. " "You are nailed to the cross
with our Lord Jesus Christ," the Abbé said, and Albert answered
in a very sweet and humble way, "Ah! but I am such a miser-
ble sinner! " The altar had a blue-silk frontal, and was dressed
with flowers. It was Eugénie who had arranged it.
The blue
silk was one of my trousseau dresses that had never been made
up, and now was applied to this use.


## p. 4141 (#519) ###########################################

MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4141
JUNE 27TH. -Albert was light-headed; was continually talking
of going into the country, and pointing to me, cried, "She is
coming with me! She is coming with me! " (I was in the habit
of writing down every word he said on these latter days of his
life; and these words, "She is coming with me," were the last
I wrote. ) After dinner that same day we were sitting by his
side, without speaking. Eugénie bent over him and gently sug-
gested his receiving extreme unction. His countenance did not
change in the least. He said gently and quite quietly, "Will it
not be taking advantage of the graces the Church bestows to
receive it yet? " He was anointed however that same evening,
and during the whole time I was standing near him, with my
hand on his right shoulder. Eugénie was on the other side of
me.
An explanation of this sacrament, which we had read to-
gether in our happy days, made me understand all that was
going on. The thought flashed through me with a wild feeling
of grief: "What, must his soul be purified even of its ardent
love for me? Must that too be destroyed? " But I did not shed
a single tear. His own wonderful calm was so holy. When it
was over, Albert made a little sign of the cross on the Abbé
Dupanloup's forehead, who received it with respect, and affec-
tionately embraced him. Then I approached, feeling that it was
my turn to receive that dear sign of the cross, which was a
sweet habit of happier days. He kissed me, his parents,
Eugénie, Fernand, Montal, and then Julian (his servant), who
was weeping bitterly. When it came to that, Albert burst into
tears, and that was more than I could bear; but he quickly
recovered fortitude when I kissed him again, and beckoned to
the Sister, whom he would not leave out in this tender and
general leave-taking, but with his delicate sense of what was
befitting, and in token of gratitude he kissed the hand which
had ministered to him, in spite of her resistance. M. l'Abbé
Dupanloup, who gave him extreme unction, had prepared him
for his first communion, and never forgot the edification it had
given him at that time to find Albert on his knees praying in
the same place where he had left him three hours before in the
Church of St. Sulpice that church in which his beloved remains
were so soon to be deposited. I sat down by his side. He was
asleep, and I held his hand in mine while Eugénie was writing
the following lines to Pauline:-
-
-


## p. 4142 (#520) ###########################################

MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4142
"O Pauline, what a night has this been! and yet not terri-
ble,—no, a most blessed night. Albert has just received extreme
unction. What wonderful graces God bestows: but why were
you not here to receive that dear angel's blessing, who, fitter for
Heaven than ourselves, is going before us there.
? " After
relating all that has been mentioned, she adds: "Pauline, I could
not have conceived anything more touching, more holy, more
soothing, or a more heavenly peace. I bless God that nothing in
all this time has troubled my notions of happiness in death. "
ALEXANDRINE TO THE ABBÉ GERBET
THE SAME DAY.
I should feel it a great mercy if you could come, but I am
however perfectly composed. I entreat you, continue your prayers
for me, for I can no longer pray for myself. I can only think.
of God, and remind him that I asked for faith in exchange for
happiness.
ALEXANDRINE.
ALEXANDRINE'S JOURNAL
JUNE 28TH. -To-night I called Albert's attention to the rising
moon. I thought it had the lurid aspect which once before I
saw at Rome, when I thought he was dying at Civita Vecchia.
The window was open. We looked on the fine trees of the
Luxembourg, and the perfume of the honeysuckles and many
flowers was sometimes almost too powerful on the night air.
Montal came in later and brought me Albert's letters to him,
which I had asked for. It was as if a dagger had been driven
into my heart. Still I immediately began to read those pages,
which though heart-rending were very sweet. The Abbé Martin
gave Albert absolution and the plenary indulgence for the night.
I was kneeling by his side, and said to him afterwards, "Do
kiss me. " He raised his feeble head, put up his lips, and kissed
Then I asked him to let me kiss his eyes. He shut them
in token of assent. Later still, feeling unable any longer to
forbear pouring my whole heart into his, and longing to take
advantage of the few moments yet remaining to us of life, I said
to him:"Albert, Montal has brought me your letters. They
comfort me very much.
"Stop! " he cried feebly.
"Stop! I cannot bear it-it troubles me! "—"O Albert! I
worship you! "-The cry burst forth in the anguish of not being
me.


## p. 4143 (#521) ###########################################

MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4143
able to speak to him, for the fear of troubling his soul forced
me to be silent; but those were the last words of my love for
him that my lips ever uttered, and he heard them, as he had
asked -even as he lay dying. O my God! whom alone I now
worship, thou hast forgiven me for that rash word which I
never again shall use but to thee, but which I cannot help being
glad and thou wilt pardon my weakness-to have said to my
poor dying love. I wanted to sit up, but from grief and want of
sleep my head was confused, and wandered so much that I
thought I was speaking to Fernand at the window when he was
not even there. Then I became afraid of losing my senses, and
Eugénie forced me to lie down on the bed. I trusted more to
her than any one else to waken me in time. Already, once or
twice, I had experienced that terrible feeling when roused from
sleep, of thinking that the dreadful moment was come.
I was
resolved at any cost to be there.
At about three o'clock in the morning, the 29th of June, I
saw Eugénie at my bedside, and was terrified; but she calmed
me, and said that Albert had asked, "Where is Alex? » "Do
you want her? " Eugénie had said. "Of course I want her," he
replied, and then began to wander again. I behaved as if I had
lost my senses. I passed twice before Albert's bed, and then
went into the next room, not the least knowing what I was
about. Eugénie came in, holding clasped in her hands the cru-
cifix indulgenced for the hour of death, which the Abbé Dupan-
loup had lent her. She appeared then as a meek angel of death,
for that crucifix was a sign that the end drew near.
Albert saw
it, seized it himself, kissed it fervently, and exclaimed, "I thank
thee, my God! " After that he became quite calm. They changed
his position, and turned his head towards the rising sun. He
had fallen into a kind of sleep, with his beloved head resting on
my left arm. I was standing, and afraid of slipping from my
place. The Sister wanted to relieve me, but Eugénie told her
not to do so, and that I was glad to be there. When Albert
awoke he spoke in his usual voice, and in quite a natural way,
to Fernand.
―――――――
—
At six o'clock he was then lying in an arm-chair near the
window. I saw and knew that the moment was come.
Then I felt so great a strength pass into me that nothing could
have driven me from my place as I knelt by his side. My sister
Eugénie was close to me. His father was kneeling on the other


## p. 4144 (#522) ###########################################

4144
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
side. His poor mother stood leaning over him, the Abbé Mar-
tin by her side. O my God! No one spoke except his father,
and each one of his words were words of blessing, the worthiest
that could accompany the dying agony of a son. "My child, who
hast never caused us pain,—the very best of sons,-we bless
you. Do you hear me still, my child? You are looking at your
Alexandrine, "- his dying eyes had turned towards me,-" and
you bless her also. " The Sister began to say the Litany for the
Agonizing. And I his wife-felt what I could never have
conceived; I felt that death was blessed, and I said in my heart:
"Now, O Lord Jesus, he is in Paradise! " The Abbé Martin
began to give the last absolution, and Albert's soul took flight
before it was over.
A GENEROUS ENEMY
From Fleurange': by permission of American Publishers' Corporation
As
S THE silence lengthened, and she looked at Vera with ever-
increasing surprise, a sudden apprehension seized her, and
a fugitive and remote glimpse of the truth crossed her
mind.
Nothing in the world was more vague than her recollection
of the name murmured a single time in her presence; but that
once was in a conversation of which Count George was the sub-
ject, and she remembered that she had then believed that they
were talking of a marriage desired by the Princess for her son.
Was it regretfully now that Vera brought to another this
permission to accompany him?
Such was the question that Fleurange asked herself. Then
approaching Vera, she said to her gently:-
"If you have been intrusted with a message for me, Made-
moiselle, how can I thank you sufficiently for having taken the
trouble to bring it to me yourself? »
But Vera hastily withdrew her hand, retreating a few steps
as she did so. Then as if she were a prey to some emotion
which she could not conquer, she fell back in an arm-chair
placed near the table; and for some minutes remained pale,
panting for breath, her expression gloomy and wild, from time
to time brushing away fiercely the tears that in spite of all her
efforts escaped from her eyelids.


## p. 4145 (#523) ###########################################

MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4145
Fleurange, motionless with surprise, looked at her with
mingled terror and interest; but soon the frank decision of her
character conquered her timidity. She went straight to the point.
"Countess Vera," she said, "if I have not conjectured rightly
the motive which brings you here, tell me the truth. There is
going on between us at this moment something which I do not
understand. Be sincere; I will be so too. Let us not remain
like this toward one another. Above all, do not look at me as
if I were not only a stranger, but an enemy. "
At this word Vera raised her head.
"Enemies! " she repeated: "Well, it is true; at this moment
we are so! "
What did she mean to say? Fleurange folded her arms, and
looked at her attentively, seeking to find an explanation to this
enigma of her words; to the still more obscure enigma of her face,
which expressed by turns the most conflicting sentiments; to the
enigma of her eyes, which now regarded her with hate, now
with the gentleness and almost the humility of a suppliant.
At last Vera seemed to decide to go on:-
"Yes, you are right," she said: "I must put an end to your
suspense, and explain to you my strange conduct; but I need
courage to do it, and to come here as I have done, to address
myself to you as I am about to do, there must have been-with-
out my knowing why-"
-
"Well," Fleurange said with a smile, "what else? "
"There must have been in my heart a secret instinct which
assured me that you were good and generous!
-
This conclusion, after this beginning, did not clear up the
situation,— on the contrary, rendered it more involved than ever.
"This is enough by way of introduction," Fleurange said,
with a certain tone of firmness. "Speak clearly, Countess Vera;
tell me all without reserve; you may believe me when I beseech
you to have no fear. Though your words were to do me a harm
which at this moment I can neither foresee nor comprehend,
speak; I require it of you; hesitate no longer. "
"Well then, here!
" said Vera, throwing suddenly upon the
table a paper which till then she had held concealed.
Fleurange took it, looked at it, and at first blushed; then she
grew pale.
"My petition! " she said; "you bring it back to me? It has
been refused then. "
VII-260


## p. 4146 (#524) ###########################################

4146
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
"No, it has not been sent. "
"You mean to say that the Empress, after having shown so
much kindness towards me, has changed her mind and refused
to undertake it? "
«No.
She has given orders to me, on the contrary, to send
your petition, and to add to it her own recommendation. "
"Well ? »
"I have disobeyed her orders. "
"I await the explanation which you are no doubt intend-
ing to give me. Go on without interrupting yourself; I shall
listen. "
"Well then, first of all, answer me. Did you know that
George von Walden was the husband who was promised to me,
-for whom my father destined me from childhood? "
"Who was promised you? - from childhood? No, I did not
know it. But no matter; go on. "
"It is true, it is no matter: this is not the question, although
I was obliged to refer to it. It is no longer a question of his
misfortune, of his fearful sentence, of that frightful Siberia to
which you propose to accompany him-to share a fate which
you can neither alleviate, nor, possibly, endure yourself. The
question is now, to save him from this destiny; to give back to
him life, honor, liberty, all that he has lost. His estates, his
fortune, his rank, all may yet be restored to him! This is what
I have come to tell you, and to ask you to aid in its accom-
plishment. "
"All this can be restored to him! " said Fleurange, in an
altered voice. "By what means? By whose power? "
"That of the Emperor, invoked, and of his clemency obtained
through my entreaties; but upon two conditions, one of which is
imposed upon George, the other of which depends upon me. To
these two conditions is joined a third, and that one rests with
you, with you only! "
The great eyes of Fleurange were fixed upon Vera, with an
expression of profound astonishment, mingled with anguish.
"Finish, I implore you! " she said. "Finish, if you are not
dreaming in saying such words to me, or I in hearing them;-
if we are not both mad, you and I! "
Vera clasped her hands together and cried passionately:-
"Oh, I beseech you, have mercy upon him! "
She stopped, suffocated by her emotion.


## p. 4147 (#525) ###########################################

MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4147
Fleurange continued to look at her with the same expression,
and without speaking made a sign to her to go on.
She seemed to concentrate her attention to understand the
words that were said to her.
"I am listening," she said at last; "I am listening quietly
and attentively; speak to me with the same composure. "
Vera resumed in a calmer tone:
"This morning, at the moment when I had just read your
petition, and learned for the first time who the exile was whom
you desired to follow,- at this very moment the Emperor arrived
at the palace, and sent for me. "
"The Emperor? " said Fleurange, with surprise.
« Yes.
And do you know what he wished to say to me?
You do not guess what it was, and I can understand readily why
you should not, for you do not know with what ardor I have
solicited pardon for George, how eagerly I have brought together,
to this end, all the facts in the case which might disarm his
Sovereign's anger against him. What the Emperor wished to
say was this, that he deigned to grant me this favor-to grant
it to me, Fleurange! do you understand? - but on two condi-
tions. "
"His pardon? " cried Fleurange.
"Go on, I am listening. "
"The first, that he should pass four years on his estates in
Livonia, without stirring thence-»
Vera ceased suddenly. Fleurange looked up. "And the sec-
ond? " she said.
"Then," said Vera, slowly and speaking with difficulty, "that
the wish of my father and of his should be fulfilled before his
departure. "
Fleurange shuddered.
and her head grew dizzy.
however.
"His pardon is upon that condition? " she said.
« Yes. The Emperor has taken an interest in me from my
childhood. He loved my father, and it has pleased him to attach
this act of clemency to this fulfillment of my father's wish. "
There was a long silence. Vera trembled herself as she saw
the pale lips and colorless cheeks of Fleurange, and her eyes
gazing fixedly into space.
"And he? " she said at last. "He will accept his pardon with
this condition without hesitating, will he not? "
An icy chill crept towards her heart,
She remained perfectly motionless,


## p. 4148 (#526) ###########################################

4148
MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
"Without hesitation? " repeated Vera, coloring with a new
emotion; "that is what I cannot say; this very doubt humiliates
and alarms me; for the Emperor would regard the least hesita-
tion as a new ingratitude, and perhaps might retract this par-
don. "
"But why should he hesitate? " said Fleurange in a voice
scarcely audible.
"Fleurange! " said Vera in the same passionate tone she had
used more than once during this interview. "Let us break each
other's heart, if we must, but let us go to the very end of this.
It has been permitted you to see George since you have been
here? "
"No. "
"But he is expecting you; he knows that you have come, and
what devotion has brought you to him? ”
"No; he knows nothing of it as yet, and is not to know until
to-morrow. "
A flash of joy shone in the black eyes of Vera.
"Then it rests with you that he does not hesitate, that he is
saved! Yes, Fleurange, let him never know that you are here,
let him never see you never again,” she added, looking at her
with a jealous terror that she could not conceal, "and life will
once more become for him beautiful, brilliant, happy,- what it
was,-what it ought always to be,- and the memory of these
few months will fade away like a dream! "
-
“Like a dream! "— Fleurange repeated mechanically these two
words, passing her hand across her forehead as she spoke.
"I have not told you all," Vera said; "I have done you an
injury that I understand better than any other person can.
But," she continued, in a tone which went to the very depths
of her listener's heart, "I wished to save George! I desired him
to be restored to me! and I have believed I know not why,
for it seems most unreasonable, and I am ordinarily distrust-
ful-yes, I have believed that you would be willing to aid me,
against yourself! "
-
―
Fleurange, her hands clasped and resting upon her knees, her
eyes gazing steadfastly before her, had seemed for a few mo-
ments past not to have heard what was said. She was listen-
ing, but it was to that clear distinct voice that rang so true in
her own soul, that voice she had always so well known how to
recognize, and to which she had never denied obedience.


## p. 4149 (#527) ###########################################

MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
4149
If George were free, if he recovered his name, his rank, his
former position, would she not at once find herself in the same
position toward him which she had formerly occupied? — would
it not be treason to avail herself in this case of his mother's
permission, and that too to the detriment of her who sat there,
the wife chosen for him from his childhood? Would it not, still
further, be a treason towards him to present herself before him
as a danger, as an obstacle, which might, perhaps at the very
moment when he recovered his liberty, cause him to lose it
anew, with that momentary favor which had restored to him!
She laid her cold hand upon the hand of Vera, and lifted to
hers her gentle and steady gaze.
"It is enough," she said in a calm voice. "You have done
right. Yes, I have understood; be tranquil. ”
Vera, astonished at the look and tone, gazed at her
wonder.
"Act as if I were far
"Act fearlessly," pursued Fleurange.
as if I had never come. "
-
away,
And taking the petition which lay upon the table, she tore
it across, and threw it into the fire! The paper blazed up for a
few seconds, then went out. She watched the cinders fly up
the chimney.
in
Vera with an irresistible impulse seized the hand of Fleur-
ange and raised it to her lips; then she remained silent and
abashed. She had come resolved to overpower her rival, to
convince her, to struggle against her at every point, if she failed
in her first attempt; but her victory had taken a character which
she had not at all foreseen.
___
Certainly it had been an easy victory, and yet Vera under-
stood that it had been a cruel one. She felt at this moment
more pain than joy, and her attitude no more expressed triumph
than did that of Fleurange express defeat. While
While the one
remained with drooping head and downcast eyes, the other had
risen to her feet; a fugitive color lingered in her cheeks, the
effort of the sacrifice had lighted up her face and given it
unwonted brilliancy.
"I think," she said, "you have nothing more to say to me. "
"No- for what I should like to say I cannot and I dare
not. "
――――――――――
Vera rose and went towards the door, but a recollection
brought her back.


## p. 4150 (#528) ###########################################

MADAME AUGUSTUS CRAVEN
"Pardon my forgetfulness," she said. "Here is your bracelet
which you dropped this morning, and which I was desired to
return to you. "
4150
At sight of the talisman Fleurange started; her unnatural
color faded, she became deadly pale, and as she looked at it in
silence, a few tears, the only ones which she had shed during
that interview, slid down her cheeks. But it was only for an
instant. Before Vera could think what she was about to do,
Fleurange had attached to the arm of her rival the bracelet
which the latter had just restored to her.
"This talisman was a present from the Princess Catherine to
her son's betrothed; it would bring happiness, she said. It is
mine no longer. I give it up to you; it is yours. "
Fleurange held out her hand. "We shall never see each
other again," she said.
"Let us not remember each other with
bitterness. "
Vera took the hand without looking up. Never had she felt
herself so touched and humiliated, and her very gratitude was a
wound to her pride. The grave and sweet voice of Fleurange
was however irresistible at this moment, and spoke to her heart
in spite of herself. She was hesitating between these two feel-
ings, when Fleurange resumed:-
"You are right. It is not my place to wait for you at this
moment, for you have nothing now to forgive,—and as for me,
I forgive you all. "
And while Vera still stood motionless with bowed head,
Fleurange bent towards her and kissed her.


## p. 4151 (#529) ###########################################

4151
FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
(1854-)
NDREW LANG has justly called Crawford the "most versatile
and various of modern novelists. " Since the appearance of
'Mr. Isaacs' in 1882, he has written nearly thirty novels,
distinguished for their variety of subject and treatment. He belongs
to the race of cosmopolitan Americans; men who, having no mental
boundaries, accept for their literary inheritance the romantic tradi-
tions and customs of all nationalities. This natural taste, quickened
by European education and extensive travel, has made him swift to
comprehend all lands and races, with their
types of character developed by social or
national conditions. His adaptability of
mind is partially explained by him in 'The
Three Fates,' supposed to be autobio-
graphic, which describes the career of an
author. "The young man's true talent," he
says, "lay in his ready power of assimilat-
ing unfamiliar knowledge by a process of in-
tuition which escapes methodical learners. "
MARION CRAWFORD.
Mr. Crawford was born in Bagni di
Lucca, Italy, August 2d, 1854. He is of min-
gled ancestry. His father, Thomas Craw-
ford the sculptor, was a native of Ireland,
and his mother was an American. He
spent his early childhood in New York. After studying at Cam-
bridge, Heidelberg, Carlsruhe, and Rome, he went to India in 1879
and edited the Indian Herald at Allahabad. There he became
acquainted with a Persian jewel merchant who suggested the myste-
rious personality of 'Mr. Isaacs. ' Returning to America in 1881, he
wrote the romance which bears this title. The fantastic creation,
with its Oriental flavor, its hints of Anglo-India, the introduction
of Ram Lal, the shadowy adept of occultism, and the striking
figure of Mr. Isaacs, with his graceful languor, Iranian features, blaz-
ing eyes, and luxurious tastes, bestowed immediate celebrity upon its
author. This was followed by Dr. Claudius,' which, although less
romantic, showed increase in constructive skill. This became more
marked in 'To Leeward,' the unlovely and tragic story of a wife's
infidelity and of society in Rome. The tale of a peasant boy who



## p. 4152 (#530) ###########################################

FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
4152
became a famous tenor is the theme of 'A Roman Singer,' issued in
1884; and in the same year he published 'An American Politician,'
in which are discussed the party spirit and corruption of American
politics. In 1885 Zoroaster' was issued, a story of ancient Persia,
introducing the court of King Darius and the aged prophet Daniel.
After 'A Tale of a Lonely Parish,' a sketch of rural life in England,
one of his most popular books appeared-'Saracinesca,' which with
'Sant' Ilario' and 'Don Orsino' forms a trilogy describing the
history of an Italian noble family of that day, and indeed forms a
complete study of Rome from 1865 to 1887. Cardinal Antonelli is
brought upon the scene, and the bewildered and stormy period of
the last struggles of the Papacy for temporal power are painted with
vigorous skill and rapid generalization, until at last, as he says in
'Don Orsino,' –
"Old Rome is dead, never to be old Rome again. The last breath has
been breathed, the aged eyes are closed forever; corruption has done its
. work, and the grand skeleton lies bleaching upon seven hills, half covered
with the piecemeal stucco of a modern architectural body. "
'Marzio's Crucifix' (1887) is the tale of an atheistic artisan who
carves in silver. This possesses a psychological interest, and that
element deepens in the 'Witch of Prague' (1892), a bold and thrilling
tale of hypnotism. Paul Patoff' (1887) relates personal experiences
of a visit to Turkey; With the Immortals' (1888) is an attempt to
reanimate dead celebrities. 'Greifenstein' is a tragedy which takes
place in the Black Forest, and tells the fortunes of two noble Ger-
man families. It is valued for its accurate descriptions of the Korps
Studenten, with their extraordinary ideals of romance and honor,
tempered with foaming beer and sabre-cuts. 'The Cigarette Maker's
Romance' is a pathetic story of the madness of Count Skariatine;
'Khaled' a fanciful tale of a genie, who is promised a soul if he
can gain a woman's love. From romance and fancy, Mr. Crawford
turns to New York life in The Three Fates,' and in 'Katharine
Lauderdale' with its sequel The Ralstons. ' 'Marion Darche' is
also an American story. 'Adam Johnston's Son' depends upon a
simple tale of love for its interest; in 'Casa Braccio,' 'The Children
of the King,' and his last book 'Taquisara' (1896), the author returns
again to his familiar milieu, Italy.
This is a list of extraordinary variety and voluminousness. Since
1884 Mr. Crawford has lived near Sorrento. Here and in his yacht
he writes his novels. Although he has devoted much time to phi-
lology, he never intrudes dialect in his books, which are written
with the idea of pleasing instead of instructing his enormous audi-
ence. His works have been translated into various languages. He-


## p. 4153 (#531) ###########################################

FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD
4153
He con-
has received many honors for his literary achievements.
siders Pietro Ghisleri' the most realistic of his books. In 1893 Mr.
Crawford published a small essay entitled 'The Novel: What it Is. '
In this he defines the novel as an "intellectual artistic luxury," a
"definition which can be made to include," he says, "a great deal,
but which is in reality a closer one than appears at first sight. It
covers the three principal essentials of the novel as it should be, of
a story, or romance; which in itself and in the manner of telling it
shall appeal to the intellect, shall satisfy the requirements of art,
and shall be a luxury, in that it can be of no use to a man when he
is at work, but may conduce to a peace of mind and delectation
during his hours of idleness. "
THE GHOST IN THE BERTH
From The Upper Berth,' in the Autonym Library': copyrighted by G. P.
Putnam's Sons
WE
E PLAYED whist in the evening, and I went to bed late. I
will confess now that I felt a disagreeable sensation
when I entered my state-room. I could not help think-
ing of the tall man I had seen on the previous night, who was
now dead,-drowned, tossing about in the long swell, two or
three hundred miles astern. His face rose very distinctly before
me as I undressed, and I even went so far as to draw back
the curtains of the upper berth, as though to persuade myself
that he was actually gone. I also bolted the door of the state-
room. Suddenly I became aware that the port-hole was open,
and fastened back. This was more than I could stand. I hastily
threw on my dressing-gown and went in search of Robert, the
steward of my passage. I was very angry, I remember, and
when I found him I dragged him roughly to the door of one
hundred and five, and pushed him towards the open port-hole.
"What the deuce do you mean, you scoundrel, by leaving that
port open every night? Don't you know it is against the regula-
tions? Don't you know that if the ship heeled and the water
began to come in, ten men could not shut it?