Thus the former vagabond was
about to possess the most beautiful princess in the world!
about to possess the most beautiful princess in the world!
Warner - World's Best Literature - v17 - Mai to Mom
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FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
9893
thronged, and numbers of ships were lying near; past the theatre,
where gondolas in long rows lie waiting for their masters, just
as our own carriages do at home; then into the great canal, past
the church of St. Mark, the Lions, the palace of the Doges, and
the Bridge of Sighs. The obscurity of night only enhanced my
delight on hearing the familiar names and seeing the dark out-
lines.
And so I am actually in Venice! Well, to-day I have seen
the finest pictures in the world, and have at last personally
made the acquaintance of a very admirable man, whom hitherto I
only knew by name; I allude to a certain Signor Giorgione, an
inimitable artist, and also to Pordenone, who paints the most
noble portraits, both of himself and many of his simple scholars,
in such a devout, faithful, and pious spirit, that you seem to con-
verse with him and to feel an affection for him. Who would
not have been confused by all this? But if I am to speak of
Titian I must do so in a more reverent mood. Till now, I
never knew that he was the felicitous artist I have this day seen
him to be. That he thoroughly enjoyed life in all its beauty and
fullness, the picture in Paris proves; but he has fathomed the
depths of human sorrow, as well as the joys of heaven. His
glorious “Entombment,' and also the Assumption,' fully evince
this. How Mary floats on the cloud, while a waving movement
seems to pervade the whole picture; how you see at a glance
her very breathing, her awe, and piety, and in short a thousand
feelings,- all words seem poor and commonplace in comparison !
The three angels too, on the right of the picture, are of the
highest order of beauty,- pure, serene loveliness, so unconscious,
so bright and so seraphic. But no more of this! or I must per-
force become poetical, — or indeed am so already,—and this does
not at all suit me; but I shall certainly see it every day.
I must however say a few words about the 'Entombment,'
as you have the engraving. Look at it, and think of me. This
picture represents the conclusion of a great tragedy,—so still,
so grand, and so acutely painful. Magdalene is supporting Mary,
fearing that she will die of anguish; she endeavors to lead her
away, but looks round herself once more,- evidently wishing to
imprint this spectacle indelibly on her heart, thinking it is for
the last time; - it surpasses everything; — and then the sorrow-
ing John, who sympathizes and suffers with Mary; and Joseph,
who, absorbed in his piety and occupied with the tomb, directs
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FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
and conducts the whole; and Christ himself, lying there so tran.
quil, having endured to the end; then the blaze of brilliant color,
and the gloomy mottled sky! It is a composition that speaks to
my heart and fills me with enthusiasm, and will never leave my
memory.
IN ROME: ST. PETER'S
From the Letters from Italy and Switzerland)
I
-
was in St. Peter's to-day, where the grand solemnities called
the absolutions have begun for the Pope, - which last till
Tuesday, when the Cardinals assemble in conclave. The
building surpasses all powers of description. It appears to me
like some great work of nature,-a forest, a mass of rocks, or
something similar; for I never can realize the idea that it is the
work of man. You strive as little to distinguish the ceiling as
the canopy of heaven. You lose your way in St. Peter's; you take
a walk in it, and ramble till you are quite tired; when Divine
service is performed and chanted there, you are not aware of it
till you come quite close. The angels in the Baptistery are mon-
strous giants; the doves, colossal birds of prey; you lose all
idea of measurement with the eye, or proportion; and yet who
does not feel his heart expand when standing under the dome
and gazing up at it ? At present a monstrous catafalque has
been erected in the nave in this shape. * The coffin is placed in
the centre under the pillars; the thing is totally devoid of taste,
and yet it has a wondrous effect. The upper circle is thickly
studded with lights,—so are all the ornaments; the lower circle
is lighted in the same way, and over the coffin hangs a burn-
ing lamp, and innumerable lights are blazing under the statues.
The whole structure is more than a hundred feet high, and stands
exactly opposite the entrance. The guards of honor, and the
Swiss, march about in the quadrangle; in every corner sits a
cardinal in deep mourning, attended by his servants, who hold
large burning torches; and then the singing commences with
responses, in the simple and monotonous tone you no doubt
remember. It is the only occasion when there is any singing
in the middle of the church, and the effect is wonderful. Those
who place themselves among the singers (as I do) and watch
* A little sketch of the catafalque was inclosed in the letter.
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FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
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them, are forcibly impressed by the scene: for they all stand
round a colossal book from which they sing, and this book is in
turn lit up by a colossal torch that burns before it; while the
choir are eagerly pressing forward in their vestments, in order to
see and to sing properly; and Baini with his monk's face, mark-
ing time with his hand and occasionally joining in the chant with
a stentorian voice. To watch all these different Italian faces was
most interesting; one enjoyment quickly succeeds another here,
and it is the same in their churches, especially in St. Peter's,
where by moving a few steps the whole scene is changed. I
went to the very furthest end, whence there was indeed a won-
derful coup d'æil. Through the spiral columns of the high altar,
which is confessedly as high as the palace in Berlin, far beyond
the space of the cupola, the whole mass of the catafalque was
seen in diminished perspective, with its rows of lights, and num-
bers of small human beings crowding round it. When the music
commences, the sounds do not reach the other end for a long
time, but echo and float in the vast space, so that the most
singular and vague harmonies are borne towards you.
change your position and place yourself right in front of the
catafalque, beyond the blaze of light and the brilliant pageantry,
you have the dusky cupola replete with blue vapor; all this is
quite indescribable. Such is Rome!
If you
A SUNDAY AT FORIA
From the Letters from Italy and Switzerland)
NE
men
TEXT morning, Sunday, the weather was again fine. We went
to Foria, and saw the people going to the cathedral in
their holiday costumes. The women wore their well-known
head-dress of folds of white muslin placed flat on the head; the
were standing in the square before the church in their
bright red caps gossiping about politics, and we gradually wound
our way through these festal villages up the hill.
It is a huge
rugged volcano, full of fissures, ravines, cavities, and steep preci-
pices. The cavities being used for wine cellars, they are filled
with large casks. Every declivity is clothed with vines and fig-
trees, or mulberry-trees. Corn grows on the sides of the steep
rocks, and yields more than one crop every year.
The ravines
are covered with ivy and innumerable bright-colored flowers and
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FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
herbs; and wherever there is a vacant space young chestnut-trees
shoot up, furnishing the most delightful shade. The last village,
Fontana, lies in the midst of verdure and vegetation. As we
climbed higher, the sky became overcast and gloomy; and by the
time we reached the most elevated peaks of the rocks, a thick
fog had come on. The vapors fitted about; and although the
rugged outlines of the rocks and the telegraph and the cross
stood forth strangely in the clouds, still we could not see even
the smallest portion of the view. Soon afterwards rain com-
menced; and as it was impossible to remain and wait as you do
on the Righi, we were obliged to take leave of Epomeo without
having made his acquaintance. We ran down in the rain, one
rushing after the other; and I do believe that we were scarcely
an hour in returning.
A VAUDOIS WALKING TRIP: PAULINE
From the Letters from Italy and Switzerland)
HA
AFTER BREAKFAST.
EAVENS! here is a pretty business. My landlady has just told
me with a long face that there is not a creature in the
village to show me the way across the Dent, or to carry
my knapsack, except a young girl; the men being all at work.
I usually set off every morning very early and quite alone, with
my bundle on my shoulders, because I find the guides from the
inns both too expensive and too tiresome; a couple of hours later
I hire the first honest-looking lad I see, and so I travel famously
on foot. I need not say how enchanting the lake and the road
hither were: you must recall for yourself all the beauties you
once enjoyed there. The footpath is in continued shade, under
walnut-trees and up-hill, past villas and castles, along the lake
which glitters through the foliage; villages everywhere, and
brooks and streams rushing along from every nook in every vil-
lage; then the neat tidy houses,- it is all quite too charming,
and you feel so fresh and so free. Here comes the girl with her
steeple hat. I can tell you she is vastly pretty into the bargain,
and her name is Pauline; she has just packed my things into
her wicker basket. Adieu!
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FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
9897
EVENING, CHÂTEAU D'Oex, CANDLE-LIGHT.
I have had the most delightful journey. What would I not
give to procure you such a day! But then you must first become
two youths and be able to climb actively, and drink milk when
the opportunity offered, and treat with contempt the intense
heat, the many rocks in the way, the innumerable holes in the
path and the still larger holes in your boots,- and I fear you
are rather too dainty for this; but it was most lovely! I shall
never forget my journey with Pauline: she is one of the nicest
girls I ever met, — so pretty and healthy-looking, and naturally
intelligent; she told me anecdotes about her village, and I in re-
turn told her about Italy: but I know who was the most amused.
The previous Sunday, all the young people of distinction in
her village had gone to a place far across the mountain, to dance
there in the afternoon. They set off shortly after midnight,
arrived while it was still dark, lighted a large fire, and made
coffee. Towards morning the men had running and wrestling
matches before the ladies (we passed a broken hedge testifying
to the truth of this); then they danced, and were at home again
by Sunday evening, and early on Monday morning they all re-
sumed their labors in the vineyards. By Heavens! I felt a strong
inclination to become a Vaudois peasant while I was listening
to Pauline, when from above she pointed out to me the villages
where they dance when the cherries are ripe, and others where
they dance when the cows go to pasture in the meadows and
give milk. To-morrow they are to dance in St. Gingolph; they
row across the lake, and any one who can play takes his instru-
ment with him: but Pauline is not to be of the party, because
her mother will not allow it, from dread of the wide lake; and
many other girls also do not go for the same reason, as they all
cling together.
She then asked my leave to say good-day to a cousin of hers,
and ran down to a neat cottage in the meadow; soon the two
girls came out together and sat on a bench and chattered; on
the Col de Jaman above, I saw her relations busily mowing, and
herding the cows.
What cries and shouts ensued! Then those above began to
jodel, on which they all laughed. I did not understand one
syllable of their patois, except the beginning, which was “Adieu,
Pierrot! ) All these sounds were taken up by a merry mad echo,
»
that shouted and laughed and jodeled too. Towards noon
we
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FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
I took my
arrived at Allière. When I had rested for a time, I once more
shouldered my knapsack, for a fat old man provoked me by
offering to carry it for me; then Pauline and I shook hands and
we took leave of each other. I descended into the meadows:
and if you do not care about Pauline, or if I have bored you
with her, it is not my fault, but that of the mode in which I
have described her; nothing could be more pleasant in reality,
and so was my further journey. I came to a cherry orchard,
where the people were gathering the fruit; so I lay down on the
grass and ate cherries for a time along with them.
midday rest at Latine in a clean wooden house. The carpenter
who built it gave me his company to some roast lamb, and
pointed out to me with pride every table and press and chair.
At length I arrived here, at night, through dazzling green
meadows, interspersed with houses, surrounded by fir-trees and
rivulets; the church here stands on a velvet-green eminence;
more houses in the distance, and still further away, huts and
rocks; and in a ravine, patches of snow still lying on the plain.
It is one of those idyllic spots such as we have seen together in
Wattwyl, but the village smaller and the mountains more green
and lofty. I must conclude, however, to-day by a high eulogy on
the Canton de Vaud. Of all the countries I know, this is the
most beautiful, and it is the spot where I should most like to
live when I become really old: the people are so contented and
look so well, and the country also. Coming from Italy, it is quite
touching to see the honesty that still exists in the world, - happy
faces, a total absence of beggars or saucy officials: in short, there
is the most complete contrast between the two nations. I thank
God for having created so much that is beautiful; and may it be
his gracious will to permit us all, whether in Berlin, England, or
in the Château d'Oex, to enjoy a happy evening and a tranquil
night!
>
4
A CRITICISM
From a Letter to his Sister, of September 2d, 1831
T!
VELL me, Fanny, do you know Auber's Parisienne'? I con-
sider it the very worst thing he has ever produced; perhaps
because the subject was really sublime, and for other rea-
sons also. Auber alone could have been guilty of composing for
a great nation, in the most violent state of excitement, a cold,
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FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
9899
insignificant piece, quite commonplace and trivial. The refrain
revolts me every time I think of it: it is as if children were
playing with a drum, and singing to it— only more objectionable.
The words also are worthless: little antitheses and points are
quite out of place here. Then the emptiness of the music! a
march for acrobats, and at the end a mere miserable imitation
of the Marseillaise. ' Woe to us if it be indeed what suits this
epoch, - if a mere copy of the Marseillaise Hymn' be all that
is required. What in the latter is full of fire and spirit and
impetus, is in the former ostentatious, cold, calculated, and arti-
ficial. The Marseillaise' is as superior to the Parisienne'as
everything produced by genuine enthusiasm must be to what is
made for a purpose, even if it be with a view to promote enthu-
siasm: it will never reach the heart, because it does not come
from the heart.
By the way, I never saw such a striking identity between
a poet and a musician as between Auber and Clauren. Auber
faithfully renders note for note what the other writes word for
word,— braggadocio, degrading sensuality, pedantry, epicurism,
and parodies of foreign nationality. But why should Clauren be
effaced from the literature of the day? Is it prejudicial to any
one that he should remain where he is ? and do you read what is
really good with less interest ? Any young poet must indeed be
degenerate, if he does not cordially hate and despise such trash:
but it is only too true that the people like him; so it is all very
well - it is only the people's loss. Write me your opinion of the
(Parisienne. I sometimes sing it to myself as I go along: it
makes a man walk like a chorister in a procession.
(
## p. 9900 (#308) ###########################################
9900
CATULLE MENDÈS
(1843-)
He writings of Catulle Mendès are representative of the
cameo-art in literature. His little stories and sketches are
of a dainty and polished workmanship, and of minute, com-
plex design. The French faculty of attaining perfection in miniature
is his to a high degree. He was born in Bordeaux in 1843, and in
1860 he began writing for the reviews. His short tales are written
with exquisite nonchalance of style; but underneath their graceful
lightness there are not wanting signs of a deep insight into human
nature, and into life's little ironies. The
pretty stories, so delicately constructed, hint
of a more serious intention in their fram-
ing than merely to amuse. The Mirror'
might be read to nursery children and to
an audience of sages with equal pertinence.
The Man of Letters) condenses the experi-
ence of a thousand weary writers into a few
paragraphs. In the pastoral of vagabond
Philip and the little white goat with gilded
horns, there is all the fragrance of the
country and of a wandering outdoor life.
Charity Rewarded' embodies the unique
CATULLE MENDÈS quality of Mendès in its perfection. He is
able to put a world of meaning into a
phrase, as when he writes that the pretty lasses and handsome lads
did not see the beggar at the roadside because they were occupied
« with singing and with love. ” Sometimes he puts a landscape into
a sentence, as when Philip in the country hears «noon rung out from
a slender steeple. ”
Mendès is a poet as well as a writer of stories. It should be said,
however, that much that he has written of years h
not repre-
sented his higher gifts.
## p. 9901 (#309) ###########################################
CATULLE MENDĖS
9901
THE FOOLISH WISH
From the Contes du Rouet)
AREFOOT, his hair blowing in the wind, a vagabond was pass-
Very young,
he was very handsome, with his golden curls, his great
black eyes, and his mouth fresh as a rose after rain. As if the
sun had taken pleasure in looking at him, there was more joy
and light on his rags than on the satins, velvets, and brocades
of the gentlemen and noble ladies grouped in the court of honor.
"Oh, how pretty she is! ” he exclaimed, suddenly stopping.
He had discovered the princess Rosalind, who was taking the
fresh air at her window; and indeed it would be impossible to
see anything on earth as pretty as she. Motionless, with arms
lifted toward the casement as toward an opening in the sky
which revealed Paradise, he would have stayed there until even-
ing if a guard had not driven him off with a blow of his par-
tisan, with hard words.
He went away hanging his head. It seemed to him now that
everything was dark before him, around him,—the horizon, the
road, the blossoming trees. Now that he no longer saw Rosa-
lind he thought the sun was dead. He sat down under an oak
on the edge of the wood, and began to weep.
"Well, my child, why are you sorrowing thus? ” asked an
old woman who came out of the wood, her back bowed under
a heap of withered boughs.
“What good would it do me to tell you ? You can't do any-
thing for me, good woman. ”
“In that you are mistaken,” said the old woman.
At the same time she drew herself up, throwing away her
bundle. She was no longer an old forester, but a fairy beautiful
as the day, clad in a silver robe, her hair garlanded with flowers
of precious stones. As to the withered boughs, they had taken
flight, covering themselves with green leaves; and returned to
the trees from which they had fallen, shaken with the song of
birds.
"O Madame Fairy! ” said the vagabond, throwing himself on
his knees, “have pity on my misfortune. Since seeing the King's
daughter, who was taking the fresh air at her window, my heart
is no longer my own. I feel that I shall never love any other
woman but her. »
»
(c
## p. 9902 (#310) ###########################################
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CATULLE MENDÈS
(
“Good! ” said the fairy: “that's no great misfortune. "
“Could there be a greater one for me? I shall die if I do
not become the princess's husband. ”
“What hinders you ? Rosalind is not betrothed. ”
"O madame, look at my rags, my bare feet.
I am a poor
boy who begs along the way. ”
“Never mind! He who loves sincerely cannot fail to be
loved. That is the happy eternal law. The King and Queen
will repulse you with contempt, the courtiers will make you a
laughing-stock: but if your love is genuine, Rosalind will be
touched by it; and some evening when you have been driven off
by the servants and worried by the dogs, she will come to you
blushing and happy. ”
The boy shook his head. He did not believe that such a
miracle was possible.
« Take care! ” continued the fairy. Love does not like to
have his power doubted, and you might be punished in some
cruel fashion for your little faith. However, since you are suf-
fering, I am willing to help you. Make a wish: I will grant it. ”
.
"I wish to be the most powerful prince on the earth, so that
I can marry the princess whom I adore. ”
"Ah! Why don't you go without any such care, and sing a
love song under her window? But as I have promised, you shall
have your desire. But I must warn you of one thing: when you
have ceased to be what you are now, no enchanter, no fairy-
not even I — can restore you to your first state. Once a prince,
you will be one for always. ”
“Do you think that the royal husband of Princess Rosalind
will ever want to go and beg his bread on the roads ? »
“I wish you happiness," said the fairy with a sigh.
Then with a golden wand she touched his shoulder; and in
a sudden metamorphosis, the vagabond became a magnificent
lord, sparkling with silk and jewels, astride a Hungarian steed,
at the head of a train of plumed courtiers, and of warriors in
golden armor who sounded trumpets.
So great a prince was not to be ill received at court. They
gave him a most cordial welcome. For a whole week there were
carousals, and balls, and all kinds of festivities in his honor.
But these pleasures did not absorb him. Every hour of the day
and night he thought of Rosalind. When he saw her he felt
his heart overflow with delight. When she spoke he thought he
»
## p. 9903 (#311) ###########################################
CATULLE MENDÈS
9903
heard divine music; and once he almost swooned with joy when
he gave her his hand to dance a pavan. One thing vexed him
a little: she whom he loved so much did not seem to heed the
pains he took for her. She usually remained silent and melan-
choly. He persisted, nevertheless, in his plan of asking her
in marriage; and naturally Rosalind's parents took care not to
refuse so illustrious a match.
Thus the former vagabond was
about to possess the most beautiful princess in the world! Such
extraordinary felicity so agitated him that he responded to the
King's consent by gestures hardly compatible with his rank, and
a little more and he would have danced the pavan all alone
before the whole court. Alas! this great joy had only a short
duration. Hardly had Rosalind been informed of the paternal
will, when she fell half dead into the arms of her maids of
honor; and when she came to, it was to say, sobbing and wring-
ing her hands, that she did not want to marry, that she would
rather kill herself than wed the prince.
More despairing than can be expressed, the unhappy lover
precipitated himself in spite of etiquette into the room where
the princess had been carried; and fell on his knees, with arms
stretched toward her. .
“Cruel girl! ” he cried: "take back the words which are kill-
ing me!
She slowly opened her eyes, and answered languidly yet
firmly:-
Prince, nothing can overcome my resolve: I will never
marry you. "
«What! you have the barbarity to lacerate a heart which is
all your own? What crime have I committed to deserve such a
punishment ? Do you doubt my love ? Do you fear that some
day I may cease to adore you? Ah! if you could read within
me, you would no longer have this doubt nor these fears. My
passion is so ardent that it renders me worthy even of your
incomparable beauty. And if you will not be moved by my
complaints, I will find only in death a remedy for my woes!
Restore me to hope, princess, or I will go to die at your feet. ”
He did not end his discourse there. He said everything that
the most violent grief can teach a loving heart; so that Rosalind
was touched, but not as he wished.
“Unhappy prince,” she said, “if my pity instead of my
love can be a consolation to you, I willingly grant it. I have as
»
(
»
## p. 9904 (#312) ###########################################
9904
CATULLE MENDÈS
»
much reason to complain as you; since I myself am enduring
the torments which are wringing you. "
«What do you mean, princess ? ”
"Alas! if I refuse to marry you, it is because I love with a
hopeless love a young vagabond with bare feet and hair blowing
in the wind, who passed my father's palace one day and looked
at me, and who has never come back! ”
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY
From the Contes du Rouet)
IT
is not alone history which is heedlessly written, but legend
as well; and it must be admitted that the most conscien-
tious and best-informed story-tellers - Madame d'Aulnoy, good
Perrault himself — have frequently related things in not exactly
the fashion in which they happened in fairyland. For example,
Cinderella's eldest sister did not wear to the prince's ball a red
velvet dress with English garniture, as has been hitherto sup-
posed: she had a scarlet robe embroidered with silver and laced
with gold. Among the monarchs of all the countries invited
to the wedding of Peau d'Ane some indeed did come in sedan
chairs, others in cabs, the most distant mounted on eagles, tigers,
or elephants; but they have omitted to tell us that the King
of Mataguin entered the palace court between the wings of a
monster whose nostrils emitted flames of precious stones. And
don't think to catch me napping by demanding how and by
whom I was enlightened upon these important points. I used to
know, in a cottage on the edge of a field, a very old woman;
old enough to be a fairy, and whom I always suspected of being
As I used to go sometimes and keep her company when
she was warming herself in the sun before her little house, she
took me into friendship; and a few days before she died, - or
returned, her expiation finished, to the land of Vivians and
Melusinas,- she made me a farewell gift of a very old and
very extraordinary spinning-wheel. For every time the wheel is
turned it begins to talk or to sing in a soft little voice, like that
of a grandmother who is cheerful and chatters.
It tells many
pretty stories: some that nobody knows; others that it knows
better than any one else; and in this last case, as it does not
lack malice, it delights to point out and to rectify the mistakes of
those who have taken upon themselves to write these accounts.
one.
## p. 9905 (#313) ###########################################
CATULLE MENDÈS
9905
You will see that I had something to learn, and you would
be very much astonished if I were to tell you all that has been
revealed to me. Now you think you know all the details of
the story of the princess, who having pierced her hand with a
spindle, fell into a sleep so profound that no one could wake
her; and who lay in a castle in the midst of a park, on a bed
embroidered with gold and silver. I am sorry to say that you
know nothing at all about it, or else that you are much mistaken
as to the end of this accident; and you will never know if I do
not make it my duty to inform you.
Yes, yes, - hummed the Wheel,- the princess had been sleep-
ing for a hundred years, when a young prince, impelled by love
and by glory, resolved to penetrate to her and to waken her.
The great trees, the thorns and brambles, drew aside of their
own accord to let him pass. He walked toward the castle, which
he saw at the end of a broad avenue; he entered; and what
surprised him a little, none of his company had been able to fol-
low him, because the trees had grown together again as soon as
he had passed. At last, when he had crossed several courts paved
with marble,- where porters with pimpled noses and red faces
were sleeping beside their cups, in which were remaining a few
drops of wine, which showed plainly enough that they had gone
to sleep while drinking; when he had traversed long vestibules
and climbed staircases where the guards were snoring, his car-
bine on his shoulder,- he finally found himself in a gilded
room, and saw on a bed with open curtains the most beautiful
sight he had ever beheld, - a princess who seemed about fifteen
or sixteen, and whose resplendent beauty had something lumi-
nous and divine.
I grant that things happened in this way, it is the Wheel
who is speaking, - and up to this point the author has not been
audaciously false. But nothing is more untrue than the rest of
the tale; and I cannot admit that the awakened Beauty looked
lovingly at the prince, or that she said to him, "Is it you? you
have kept me waiting a long time. ”
If you want to know the truth, listen.
The princess stretched her arms, raised her head a little, half
opened her eyes, closed them as if afraid of the light, and sighed
long, while Puff her little dog, also awakened, yelped with rage.
«What has happened ? ” asked the fairy's goddaughter at last;
« and what do they want of me ? ”
XVII-620
## p. 9906 (#314) ###########################################
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CATULLE MENDES
The prince on his knees exclaimed:-
"He who has come is he who adores you, and who has brared
the greatest dangers” (he flattered himself a little) to draw you
from the enchantment in which you were captive. Leave this
bed where you have been sleeping for a hundred years, give me
your hand, and let us go back together into brightness and life. ”
Astonished at these words, she considered him, and could not
help smiling; for he was a very well made young prince, with
the most beautiful eyes in the world, and he spoke in a very
melodious voice,
"So it is true,” she said, pushing back her hair: “the hour is
come when I can be delivered from my long, long sleep? ”
“Yes, you can. ”
"Ah! ” said she.
And she thought. Then she went on:-
“What will happen to me if I come out of the shadows, if I
return among the living ? ”
« Can't you guess ? Have you forgotten that you are the
daughter of a king? You will see your people hastening to wel-
come you, charmed, uttering cries of pleasure, and waving gay
banners. The women and children will kiss the hem of your
gown. In short, you will be the most powerful, most honored
queen in the world. ”
"I shall like to be queen,” she said. «What else will happen
to me? ”
“You will live in a palace bright as gold; and ascending
the steps to your throne, you will tread upon mosaics of dia-
monds. The courtiers grouped about you will sing your praises.
The most august brows will incline under the all-powerful grace
of your smile. ”
“ To be praised and obeyed will be charming,” she said.
"Shall I have other pleasures ? »
« Maids of honor as skillful as the fairies. Your godmothers
will dress you in robes the color of moon and sun.
They will
powder your hair, put tiny black patches at the brink of your
eye or at the corner of your mouth. You will have a grand
golden mantle trailing after you. ”
"Good! ” she said. “I was always a little coquettish. ”
I
“Pages as pretty as birds will offer you dishes of the most
delicious sweetmeats, will pour in your cup the sweet wines which
are so fragrant. ”
((
»
## p. 9907 (#315) ###########################################
CATULLE MENDÈS
9907
»
(
»
«That is very fine,” she said. “I was always a little greedy,
”
Will those be all of my joys ? ”
"Another delight, the greatest of all, awaits you. "
"Ah! what ? »
« You will be loved. ”
By whom? ”
« By me! - Unless you think me unworthy to claim your af-
fection. ”
“You are a fine-looking prince; and your costume is very
becoming. ”
"If you deign not to repel my prayers, I will give you my
whole heart for another kingdom of which you shall be sovereign;
and I will never cease to be the grateful slave of your cruelest
caprices.
"Ah! what happiness you promise me! ”
"Rise then, sweetheart, and follow me. ”
«Follow you ? Already? Wait a little. I must reflect. There
is doubtless more than one tempting thing among all that you
offer me; but do you know if I may not have to leave better in
order to obtain it ? »
« What do you mean, princess ? ”
"I have been sleeping for a century, it is true; but I have
been dreaming too, for a century. In my dreams I am also a
queen, and of what a divine kingdom! My palace has walls of
light. I have angels for courtiers, who celebrate me in music of
infinite sweetness. I tread on branches of stars. If you knew
what beautiful dresses I wear, the peerless fruits I have on my
table, and the honey wines in which I moisten my lips! As for
love, believe me, I don't lack that either; for I am adored by a
husband who is handsomer than all the princes of the earth, and
who has been faithful for a hundred years. Everything con-
sidered, I think, my lord, that I should gain nothing by coming
out of my enchantment. Please let me sleep. ”
Thereupon she turned toward the side of the bed, drew her
hair over her eyes, and resumed her long nap; while Puff the
little dog stopped yelping, content, her nose on her paws.
The prince went away much abashed. And since then, thanks
to the protection of the good fairies, no one has come to disturb
the slumbers of the Sleeping Beauty.
## p. 9908 (#316) ###########################################
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CATULLE MENDES
THE CHARITY OF SYMPATHY
From (The Humor of France)
N
O"
THE Spanish high-road, where the pretty lasses and the
handsome lads arm-in-arm were returning from the Cor-
rida, a young beggar, wrapped in his ragged cloak, asked
alms, saying he had eaten nothing for two days. Judging from
his miserable appearance and his hollow cheeks, it was plain he
did not lie. However, no one took any heed of him, occupied
as they were with singing and love. Must he be left to die of
hunger, the handsome beggar, by the roadside ?
But three girls of twenty years, plump, laughing, stopped and
took pity on him.
The first gave him a real.
“ Thank you,” he said.
The second gave him a smaller coin.
"May God reward you,” he said.
The third — the poorest and the prettiest — had neither small
coins nor reals; she gave him a kiss. The starving man spoke
never a word; but a flower-seller happening to come by, he
spent all the money they had just given him on a big bunch of
roses, and presented it to the pretty girl.
Translated by Elizabeth Lee.
THE MIRROR
From "The Humor of France)
I
I was in a kingdom in which there was no mirror. All the
mirrors — those you hang on the walls, those you hold in
your hand, those you carry on the châtelaine — had been
broken, reduced to the tiniest bits by order of the Queen. If the
smallest glass was found, no matter in what house, she never
failed to put the inhabitants to death with terrible tortures. I
can tell you the motives of the strange caprice. Ugly to a
degree that the worst monsters would have seemed charming
beside her, the Queen did not wish when she went about the
town to run the risk of encountering her reflection; and knowing
herself to be hideous, it was a consolation to her to think that
others at least could not see their beauty. What was the good
## p. 9909 (#317) ###########################################
CATULLE MENDÈS
9909
of having the most beautiful eyes in the world, a mouth as fresh
as roses, and of putting flowers in your hair, if you could not see
your head-dress, nor your mouth, nor your eyes? You could not
even count on your reflection in the brooks and lakes. The
rivers and ponds of the country had been hidden under deftly
joined slabs of stone; water was drawn from wells so deep that
you could not see their surface, and not in pails in which reflec-
tion would have been possible, but in almost flat troughs. The
grief was beyond anything you can imagine, especially among the
coquettes, who were not rarer in that country than in others.
And the Queen did not pity them at all; but was well content
that her subjects should be as unhappy at not seeing themselves
as she would have been furious at sight of herself.
However, there was in a suburb of the town a young girl
called Jacinthe, who was not quite so miserable as the rest, be-
cause of a lover she had. Some one who finds you beautiful, and
never tires of telling you so, can take the place of a mirror.
«What, truly ? ” she asked, "there is nothing unpleasant in
the color of my eyes ? "
« They are like corn-flowers in which a clear drop of amber
has fallen. ”
“My skin isn't black ? »
“Know that your brow is purer than snow crystals; know that
your cheeks are like roses fair yet pink! "
“What must I think of my lips ? »
« That they are like a ripe raspberry. ”
“And what of my teeth, if you please ? ”
“That grains of rice, however fine, are not as white. ”
“But about my ears, haven't I reason for disquiet ? »
“Yes, if it disquiets you to have in a tangle of light hair, two
little shells as intricate as newly opened violets. ”
Thus they talked, -she charmed, he more ravished still; for
he did not say a word which was not the very truth. All that
she had the pleasure of hearing praised, he had the delight of see-
ing. So their mutual tenderness grew livelier from hour to hour.
The day he asked if she would consent to have him for her hus-
band, she blushed, but certainly not from fear; people who seeing
her smile might have thought she was amusing herself with the
thought of saying no, would have been much mistaken. The
misfortune was, that the news of the engagement came to the
ears of the wicked Queen, whose only joy was to trouble that of
(
## p. 9910 (#318) ###########################################
9910
CATULLE MENDÈS
(
>>
others; and she hated Jacinthe more than all, because she was
the most beautiful of all.
Walking one day, a short time before the wedding, in the
orchard, an old woman approached Jacinthe asking alms; then
suddenly fell back with a shriek, like some one who has nearly
trodden on a toad.
"Ah, heaven! what have I seen?
What's the matter, my good woman, and what have you
seen? Speak. ”
« The ugliest thing on the face of the earth. ”
"Certainly that isn't me,” said Jacinthe, smiling.
"Alas! yes, poor child, it is you. I have been a long time in
the world, but I never yet met any one so hideous as you are. ”
“Do you mean to say that I am ugly — I? ”
“A hundred times more than it is possible to express! »
«What! my eyes ? »
“They are gray as dust; but that would be nothing if you
did not squint in the most disagreeable way. ”
My skin ?
“One would say that you had rubbed your forehead and
cheeks with coal-dust. ”
My mouth?
“It is pale like an old autumnal flower,”
My teeth ? »
“If the beauty of teeth was to be large and yellow, I should
not know any more beautiful than yours. ”
"Ah! At least my ears
They are so big, so red, and so hairy, one cannot look at
them without horror. I am not at all pretty myself, and yet I
think I should die of shame if I had the like. "
Thereupon the old woman, who must have been some wicked
fairy, a friend of the wicked Queen, fled, cruelly laughing; while
Jacinthe, all in tears, sank down on a bench under the apple-
trees.
Nothing could divert her from her affliction. “I am ugly! I
am ugly! ” she repeated unceasingly. In vain her lover assured
her of the contrary with many oaths.
« Leave me! you are lying
out of pity. I understand everything now. It is not love but
pity that you feel for me. The beggar-woman had no interest
in deceiving me; why should she do so? It is only too true: I
am hideous. I cannot conceive how you even endure the sight
((
»
(c
## p. 9911 (#319) ###########################################
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>>
of me. ” In order to undeceive her, it occurred to him to make
many people visit her: every man declared that Jacinthe was
exactly made for the pleasure of eyes; several women said as
much in a fashion a little less positive. The poor child persisted
in the conviction that she was an object of horror.
« You are
planning together to impose upon me! ” and as the lover pressed
her, in spite of all, to fix the day for the wedding, "I your
wife! ” she cried, “never! I love you too tenderly to make you
a present of such a frightful thing as I am. ” You can guess the
despair of this young man, so sincerely enamored. He threw
himself on his knees, he begged, he supplicated.
FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
9893
thronged, and numbers of ships were lying near; past the theatre,
where gondolas in long rows lie waiting for their masters, just
as our own carriages do at home; then into the great canal, past
the church of St. Mark, the Lions, the palace of the Doges, and
the Bridge of Sighs. The obscurity of night only enhanced my
delight on hearing the familiar names and seeing the dark out-
lines.
And so I am actually in Venice! Well, to-day I have seen
the finest pictures in the world, and have at last personally
made the acquaintance of a very admirable man, whom hitherto I
only knew by name; I allude to a certain Signor Giorgione, an
inimitable artist, and also to Pordenone, who paints the most
noble portraits, both of himself and many of his simple scholars,
in such a devout, faithful, and pious spirit, that you seem to con-
verse with him and to feel an affection for him. Who would
not have been confused by all this? But if I am to speak of
Titian I must do so in a more reverent mood. Till now, I
never knew that he was the felicitous artist I have this day seen
him to be. That he thoroughly enjoyed life in all its beauty and
fullness, the picture in Paris proves; but he has fathomed the
depths of human sorrow, as well as the joys of heaven. His
glorious “Entombment,' and also the Assumption,' fully evince
this. How Mary floats on the cloud, while a waving movement
seems to pervade the whole picture; how you see at a glance
her very breathing, her awe, and piety, and in short a thousand
feelings,- all words seem poor and commonplace in comparison !
The three angels too, on the right of the picture, are of the
highest order of beauty,- pure, serene loveliness, so unconscious,
so bright and so seraphic. But no more of this! or I must per-
force become poetical, — or indeed am so already,—and this does
not at all suit me; but I shall certainly see it every day.
I must however say a few words about the 'Entombment,'
as you have the engraving. Look at it, and think of me. This
picture represents the conclusion of a great tragedy,—so still,
so grand, and so acutely painful. Magdalene is supporting Mary,
fearing that she will die of anguish; she endeavors to lead her
away, but looks round herself once more,- evidently wishing to
imprint this spectacle indelibly on her heart, thinking it is for
the last time; - it surpasses everything; — and then the sorrow-
ing John, who sympathizes and suffers with Mary; and Joseph,
who, absorbed in his piety and occupied with the tomb, directs
## p. 9894 (#302) ###########################################
9894
FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
and conducts the whole; and Christ himself, lying there so tran.
quil, having endured to the end; then the blaze of brilliant color,
and the gloomy mottled sky! It is a composition that speaks to
my heart and fills me with enthusiasm, and will never leave my
memory.
IN ROME: ST. PETER'S
From the Letters from Italy and Switzerland)
I
-
was in St. Peter's to-day, where the grand solemnities called
the absolutions have begun for the Pope, - which last till
Tuesday, when the Cardinals assemble in conclave. The
building surpasses all powers of description. It appears to me
like some great work of nature,-a forest, a mass of rocks, or
something similar; for I never can realize the idea that it is the
work of man. You strive as little to distinguish the ceiling as
the canopy of heaven. You lose your way in St. Peter's; you take
a walk in it, and ramble till you are quite tired; when Divine
service is performed and chanted there, you are not aware of it
till you come quite close. The angels in the Baptistery are mon-
strous giants; the doves, colossal birds of prey; you lose all
idea of measurement with the eye, or proportion; and yet who
does not feel his heart expand when standing under the dome
and gazing up at it ? At present a monstrous catafalque has
been erected in the nave in this shape. * The coffin is placed in
the centre under the pillars; the thing is totally devoid of taste,
and yet it has a wondrous effect. The upper circle is thickly
studded with lights,—so are all the ornaments; the lower circle
is lighted in the same way, and over the coffin hangs a burn-
ing lamp, and innumerable lights are blazing under the statues.
The whole structure is more than a hundred feet high, and stands
exactly opposite the entrance. The guards of honor, and the
Swiss, march about in the quadrangle; in every corner sits a
cardinal in deep mourning, attended by his servants, who hold
large burning torches; and then the singing commences with
responses, in the simple and monotonous tone you no doubt
remember. It is the only occasion when there is any singing
in the middle of the church, and the effect is wonderful. Those
who place themselves among the singers (as I do) and watch
* A little sketch of the catafalque was inclosed in the letter.
## p. 9895 (#303) ###########################################
FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
9895
them, are forcibly impressed by the scene: for they all stand
round a colossal book from which they sing, and this book is in
turn lit up by a colossal torch that burns before it; while the
choir are eagerly pressing forward in their vestments, in order to
see and to sing properly; and Baini with his monk's face, mark-
ing time with his hand and occasionally joining in the chant with
a stentorian voice. To watch all these different Italian faces was
most interesting; one enjoyment quickly succeeds another here,
and it is the same in their churches, especially in St. Peter's,
where by moving a few steps the whole scene is changed. I
went to the very furthest end, whence there was indeed a won-
derful coup d'æil. Through the spiral columns of the high altar,
which is confessedly as high as the palace in Berlin, far beyond
the space of the cupola, the whole mass of the catafalque was
seen in diminished perspective, with its rows of lights, and num-
bers of small human beings crowding round it. When the music
commences, the sounds do not reach the other end for a long
time, but echo and float in the vast space, so that the most
singular and vague harmonies are borne towards you.
change your position and place yourself right in front of the
catafalque, beyond the blaze of light and the brilliant pageantry,
you have the dusky cupola replete with blue vapor; all this is
quite indescribable. Such is Rome!
If you
A SUNDAY AT FORIA
From the Letters from Italy and Switzerland)
NE
men
TEXT morning, Sunday, the weather was again fine. We went
to Foria, and saw the people going to the cathedral in
their holiday costumes. The women wore their well-known
head-dress of folds of white muslin placed flat on the head; the
were standing in the square before the church in their
bright red caps gossiping about politics, and we gradually wound
our way through these festal villages up the hill.
It is a huge
rugged volcano, full of fissures, ravines, cavities, and steep preci-
pices. The cavities being used for wine cellars, they are filled
with large casks. Every declivity is clothed with vines and fig-
trees, or mulberry-trees. Corn grows on the sides of the steep
rocks, and yields more than one crop every year.
The ravines
are covered with ivy and innumerable bright-colored flowers and
## p. 9896 (#304) ###########################################
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FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
herbs; and wherever there is a vacant space young chestnut-trees
shoot up, furnishing the most delightful shade. The last village,
Fontana, lies in the midst of verdure and vegetation. As we
climbed higher, the sky became overcast and gloomy; and by the
time we reached the most elevated peaks of the rocks, a thick
fog had come on. The vapors fitted about; and although the
rugged outlines of the rocks and the telegraph and the cross
stood forth strangely in the clouds, still we could not see even
the smallest portion of the view. Soon afterwards rain com-
menced; and as it was impossible to remain and wait as you do
on the Righi, we were obliged to take leave of Epomeo without
having made his acquaintance. We ran down in the rain, one
rushing after the other; and I do believe that we were scarcely
an hour in returning.
A VAUDOIS WALKING TRIP: PAULINE
From the Letters from Italy and Switzerland)
HA
AFTER BREAKFAST.
EAVENS! here is a pretty business. My landlady has just told
me with a long face that there is not a creature in the
village to show me the way across the Dent, or to carry
my knapsack, except a young girl; the men being all at work.
I usually set off every morning very early and quite alone, with
my bundle on my shoulders, because I find the guides from the
inns both too expensive and too tiresome; a couple of hours later
I hire the first honest-looking lad I see, and so I travel famously
on foot. I need not say how enchanting the lake and the road
hither were: you must recall for yourself all the beauties you
once enjoyed there. The footpath is in continued shade, under
walnut-trees and up-hill, past villas and castles, along the lake
which glitters through the foliage; villages everywhere, and
brooks and streams rushing along from every nook in every vil-
lage; then the neat tidy houses,- it is all quite too charming,
and you feel so fresh and so free. Here comes the girl with her
steeple hat. I can tell you she is vastly pretty into the bargain,
and her name is Pauline; she has just packed my things into
her wicker basket. Adieu!
## p. 9897 (#305) ###########################################
FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
9897
EVENING, CHÂTEAU D'Oex, CANDLE-LIGHT.
I have had the most delightful journey. What would I not
give to procure you such a day! But then you must first become
two youths and be able to climb actively, and drink milk when
the opportunity offered, and treat with contempt the intense
heat, the many rocks in the way, the innumerable holes in the
path and the still larger holes in your boots,- and I fear you
are rather too dainty for this; but it was most lovely! I shall
never forget my journey with Pauline: she is one of the nicest
girls I ever met, — so pretty and healthy-looking, and naturally
intelligent; she told me anecdotes about her village, and I in re-
turn told her about Italy: but I know who was the most amused.
The previous Sunday, all the young people of distinction in
her village had gone to a place far across the mountain, to dance
there in the afternoon. They set off shortly after midnight,
arrived while it was still dark, lighted a large fire, and made
coffee. Towards morning the men had running and wrestling
matches before the ladies (we passed a broken hedge testifying
to the truth of this); then they danced, and were at home again
by Sunday evening, and early on Monday morning they all re-
sumed their labors in the vineyards. By Heavens! I felt a strong
inclination to become a Vaudois peasant while I was listening
to Pauline, when from above she pointed out to me the villages
where they dance when the cherries are ripe, and others where
they dance when the cows go to pasture in the meadows and
give milk. To-morrow they are to dance in St. Gingolph; they
row across the lake, and any one who can play takes his instru-
ment with him: but Pauline is not to be of the party, because
her mother will not allow it, from dread of the wide lake; and
many other girls also do not go for the same reason, as they all
cling together.
She then asked my leave to say good-day to a cousin of hers,
and ran down to a neat cottage in the meadow; soon the two
girls came out together and sat on a bench and chattered; on
the Col de Jaman above, I saw her relations busily mowing, and
herding the cows.
What cries and shouts ensued! Then those above began to
jodel, on which they all laughed. I did not understand one
syllable of their patois, except the beginning, which was “Adieu,
Pierrot! ) All these sounds were taken up by a merry mad echo,
»
that shouted and laughed and jodeled too. Towards noon
we
## p. 9898 (#306) ###########################################
9898
FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
I took my
arrived at Allière. When I had rested for a time, I once more
shouldered my knapsack, for a fat old man provoked me by
offering to carry it for me; then Pauline and I shook hands and
we took leave of each other. I descended into the meadows:
and if you do not care about Pauline, or if I have bored you
with her, it is not my fault, but that of the mode in which I
have described her; nothing could be more pleasant in reality,
and so was my further journey. I came to a cherry orchard,
where the people were gathering the fruit; so I lay down on the
grass and ate cherries for a time along with them.
midday rest at Latine in a clean wooden house. The carpenter
who built it gave me his company to some roast lamb, and
pointed out to me with pride every table and press and chair.
At length I arrived here, at night, through dazzling green
meadows, interspersed with houses, surrounded by fir-trees and
rivulets; the church here stands on a velvet-green eminence;
more houses in the distance, and still further away, huts and
rocks; and in a ravine, patches of snow still lying on the plain.
It is one of those idyllic spots such as we have seen together in
Wattwyl, but the village smaller and the mountains more green
and lofty. I must conclude, however, to-day by a high eulogy on
the Canton de Vaud. Of all the countries I know, this is the
most beautiful, and it is the spot where I should most like to
live when I become really old: the people are so contented and
look so well, and the country also. Coming from Italy, it is quite
touching to see the honesty that still exists in the world, - happy
faces, a total absence of beggars or saucy officials: in short, there
is the most complete contrast between the two nations. I thank
God for having created so much that is beautiful; and may it be
his gracious will to permit us all, whether in Berlin, England, or
in the Château d'Oex, to enjoy a happy evening and a tranquil
night!
>
4
A CRITICISM
From a Letter to his Sister, of September 2d, 1831
T!
VELL me, Fanny, do you know Auber's Parisienne'? I con-
sider it the very worst thing he has ever produced; perhaps
because the subject was really sublime, and for other rea-
sons also. Auber alone could have been guilty of composing for
a great nation, in the most violent state of excitement, a cold,
## p. 9899 (#307) ###########################################
FELIX MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY
9899
insignificant piece, quite commonplace and trivial. The refrain
revolts me every time I think of it: it is as if children were
playing with a drum, and singing to it— only more objectionable.
The words also are worthless: little antitheses and points are
quite out of place here. Then the emptiness of the music! a
march for acrobats, and at the end a mere miserable imitation
of the Marseillaise. ' Woe to us if it be indeed what suits this
epoch, - if a mere copy of the Marseillaise Hymn' be all that
is required. What in the latter is full of fire and spirit and
impetus, is in the former ostentatious, cold, calculated, and arti-
ficial. The Marseillaise' is as superior to the Parisienne'as
everything produced by genuine enthusiasm must be to what is
made for a purpose, even if it be with a view to promote enthu-
siasm: it will never reach the heart, because it does not come
from the heart.
By the way, I never saw such a striking identity between
a poet and a musician as between Auber and Clauren. Auber
faithfully renders note for note what the other writes word for
word,— braggadocio, degrading sensuality, pedantry, epicurism,
and parodies of foreign nationality. But why should Clauren be
effaced from the literature of the day? Is it prejudicial to any
one that he should remain where he is ? and do you read what is
really good with less interest ? Any young poet must indeed be
degenerate, if he does not cordially hate and despise such trash:
but it is only too true that the people like him; so it is all very
well - it is only the people's loss. Write me your opinion of the
(Parisienne. I sometimes sing it to myself as I go along: it
makes a man walk like a chorister in a procession.
(
## p. 9900 (#308) ###########################################
9900
CATULLE MENDÈS
(1843-)
He writings of Catulle Mendès are representative of the
cameo-art in literature. His little stories and sketches are
of a dainty and polished workmanship, and of minute, com-
plex design. The French faculty of attaining perfection in miniature
is his to a high degree. He was born in Bordeaux in 1843, and in
1860 he began writing for the reviews. His short tales are written
with exquisite nonchalance of style; but underneath their graceful
lightness there are not wanting signs of a deep insight into human
nature, and into life's little ironies. The
pretty stories, so delicately constructed, hint
of a more serious intention in their fram-
ing than merely to amuse. The Mirror'
might be read to nursery children and to
an audience of sages with equal pertinence.
The Man of Letters) condenses the experi-
ence of a thousand weary writers into a few
paragraphs. In the pastoral of vagabond
Philip and the little white goat with gilded
horns, there is all the fragrance of the
country and of a wandering outdoor life.
Charity Rewarded' embodies the unique
CATULLE MENDÈS quality of Mendès in its perfection. He is
able to put a world of meaning into a
phrase, as when he writes that the pretty lasses and handsome lads
did not see the beggar at the roadside because they were occupied
« with singing and with love. ” Sometimes he puts a landscape into
a sentence, as when Philip in the country hears «noon rung out from
a slender steeple. ”
Mendès is a poet as well as a writer of stories. It should be said,
however, that much that he has written of years h
not repre-
sented his higher gifts.
## p. 9901 (#309) ###########################################
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THE FOOLISH WISH
From the Contes du Rouet)
AREFOOT, his hair blowing in the wind, a vagabond was pass-
Very young,
he was very handsome, with his golden curls, his great
black eyes, and his mouth fresh as a rose after rain. As if the
sun had taken pleasure in looking at him, there was more joy
and light on his rags than on the satins, velvets, and brocades
of the gentlemen and noble ladies grouped in the court of honor.
"Oh, how pretty she is! ” he exclaimed, suddenly stopping.
He had discovered the princess Rosalind, who was taking the
fresh air at her window; and indeed it would be impossible to
see anything on earth as pretty as she. Motionless, with arms
lifted toward the casement as toward an opening in the sky
which revealed Paradise, he would have stayed there until even-
ing if a guard had not driven him off with a blow of his par-
tisan, with hard words.
He went away hanging his head. It seemed to him now that
everything was dark before him, around him,—the horizon, the
road, the blossoming trees. Now that he no longer saw Rosa-
lind he thought the sun was dead. He sat down under an oak
on the edge of the wood, and began to weep.
"Well, my child, why are you sorrowing thus? ” asked an
old woman who came out of the wood, her back bowed under
a heap of withered boughs.
“What good would it do me to tell you ? You can't do any-
thing for me, good woman. ”
“In that you are mistaken,” said the old woman.
At the same time she drew herself up, throwing away her
bundle. She was no longer an old forester, but a fairy beautiful
as the day, clad in a silver robe, her hair garlanded with flowers
of precious stones. As to the withered boughs, they had taken
flight, covering themselves with green leaves; and returned to
the trees from which they had fallen, shaken with the song of
birds.
"O Madame Fairy! ” said the vagabond, throwing himself on
his knees, “have pity on my misfortune. Since seeing the King's
daughter, who was taking the fresh air at her window, my heart
is no longer my own. I feel that I shall never love any other
woman but her. »
»
(c
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(
“Good! ” said the fairy: “that's no great misfortune. "
“Could there be a greater one for me? I shall die if I do
not become the princess's husband. ”
“What hinders you ? Rosalind is not betrothed. ”
"O madame, look at my rags, my bare feet.
I am a poor
boy who begs along the way. ”
“Never mind! He who loves sincerely cannot fail to be
loved. That is the happy eternal law. The King and Queen
will repulse you with contempt, the courtiers will make you a
laughing-stock: but if your love is genuine, Rosalind will be
touched by it; and some evening when you have been driven off
by the servants and worried by the dogs, she will come to you
blushing and happy. ”
The boy shook his head. He did not believe that such a
miracle was possible.
« Take care! ” continued the fairy. Love does not like to
have his power doubted, and you might be punished in some
cruel fashion for your little faith. However, since you are suf-
fering, I am willing to help you. Make a wish: I will grant it. ”
.
"I wish to be the most powerful prince on the earth, so that
I can marry the princess whom I adore. ”
"Ah! Why don't you go without any such care, and sing a
love song under her window? But as I have promised, you shall
have your desire. But I must warn you of one thing: when you
have ceased to be what you are now, no enchanter, no fairy-
not even I — can restore you to your first state. Once a prince,
you will be one for always. ”
“Do you think that the royal husband of Princess Rosalind
will ever want to go and beg his bread on the roads ? »
“I wish you happiness," said the fairy with a sigh.
Then with a golden wand she touched his shoulder; and in
a sudden metamorphosis, the vagabond became a magnificent
lord, sparkling with silk and jewels, astride a Hungarian steed,
at the head of a train of plumed courtiers, and of warriors in
golden armor who sounded trumpets.
So great a prince was not to be ill received at court. They
gave him a most cordial welcome. For a whole week there were
carousals, and balls, and all kinds of festivities in his honor.
But these pleasures did not absorb him. Every hour of the day
and night he thought of Rosalind. When he saw her he felt
his heart overflow with delight. When she spoke he thought he
»
## p. 9903 (#311) ###########################################
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heard divine music; and once he almost swooned with joy when
he gave her his hand to dance a pavan. One thing vexed him
a little: she whom he loved so much did not seem to heed the
pains he took for her. She usually remained silent and melan-
choly. He persisted, nevertheless, in his plan of asking her
in marriage; and naturally Rosalind's parents took care not to
refuse so illustrious a match.
Thus the former vagabond was
about to possess the most beautiful princess in the world! Such
extraordinary felicity so agitated him that he responded to the
King's consent by gestures hardly compatible with his rank, and
a little more and he would have danced the pavan all alone
before the whole court. Alas! this great joy had only a short
duration. Hardly had Rosalind been informed of the paternal
will, when she fell half dead into the arms of her maids of
honor; and when she came to, it was to say, sobbing and wring-
ing her hands, that she did not want to marry, that she would
rather kill herself than wed the prince.
More despairing than can be expressed, the unhappy lover
precipitated himself in spite of etiquette into the room where
the princess had been carried; and fell on his knees, with arms
stretched toward her. .
“Cruel girl! ” he cried: "take back the words which are kill-
ing me!
She slowly opened her eyes, and answered languidly yet
firmly:-
Prince, nothing can overcome my resolve: I will never
marry you. "
«What! you have the barbarity to lacerate a heart which is
all your own? What crime have I committed to deserve such a
punishment ? Do you doubt my love ? Do you fear that some
day I may cease to adore you? Ah! if you could read within
me, you would no longer have this doubt nor these fears. My
passion is so ardent that it renders me worthy even of your
incomparable beauty. And if you will not be moved by my
complaints, I will find only in death a remedy for my woes!
Restore me to hope, princess, or I will go to die at your feet. ”
He did not end his discourse there. He said everything that
the most violent grief can teach a loving heart; so that Rosalind
was touched, but not as he wished.
“Unhappy prince,” she said, “if my pity instead of my
love can be a consolation to you, I willingly grant it. I have as
»
(
»
## p. 9904 (#312) ###########################################
9904
CATULLE MENDÈS
»
much reason to complain as you; since I myself am enduring
the torments which are wringing you. "
«What do you mean, princess ? ”
"Alas! if I refuse to marry you, it is because I love with a
hopeless love a young vagabond with bare feet and hair blowing
in the wind, who passed my father's palace one day and looked
at me, and who has never come back! ”
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY
From the Contes du Rouet)
IT
is not alone history which is heedlessly written, but legend
as well; and it must be admitted that the most conscien-
tious and best-informed story-tellers - Madame d'Aulnoy, good
Perrault himself — have frequently related things in not exactly
the fashion in which they happened in fairyland. For example,
Cinderella's eldest sister did not wear to the prince's ball a red
velvet dress with English garniture, as has been hitherto sup-
posed: she had a scarlet robe embroidered with silver and laced
with gold. Among the monarchs of all the countries invited
to the wedding of Peau d'Ane some indeed did come in sedan
chairs, others in cabs, the most distant mounted on eagles, tigers,
or elephants; but they have omitted to tell us that the King
of Mataguin entered the palace court between the wings of a
monster whose nostrils emitted flames of precious stones. And
don't think to catch me napping by demanding how and by
whom I was enlightened upon these important points. I used to
know, in a cottage on the edge of a field, a very old woman;
old enough to be a fairy, and whom I always suspected of being
As I used to go sometimes and keep her company when
she was warming herself in the sun before her little house, she
took me into friendship; and a few days before she died, - or
returned, her expiation finished, to the land of Vivians and
Melusinas,- she made me a farewell gift of a very old and
very extraordinary spinning-wheel. For every time the wheel is
turned it begins to talk or to sing in a soft little voice, like that
of a grandmother who is cheerful and chatters.
It tells many
pretty stories: some that nobody knows; others that it knows
better than any one else; and in this last case, as it does not
lack malice, it delights to point out and to rectify the mistakes of
those who have taken upon themselves to write these accounts.
one.
## p. 9905 (#313) ###########################################
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9905
You will see that I had something to learn, and you would
be very much astonished if I were to tell you all that has been
revealed to me. Now you think you know all the details of
the story of the princess, who having pierced her hand with a
spindle, fell into a sleep so profound that no one could wake
her; and who lay in a castle in the midst of a park, on a bed
embroidered with gold and silver. I am sorry to say that you
know nothing at all about it, or else that you are much mistaken
as to the end of this accident; and you will never know if I do
not make it my duty to inform you.
Yes, yes, - hummed the Wheel,- the princess had been sleep-
ing for a hundred years, when a young prince, impelled by love
and by glory, resolved to penetrate to her and to waken her.
The great trees, the thorns and brambles, drew aside of their
own accord to let him pass. He walked toward the castle, which
he saw at the end of a broad avenue; he entered; and what
surprised him a little, none of his company had been able to fol-
low him, because the trees had grown together again as soon as
he had passed. At last, when he had crossed several courts paved
with marble,- where porters with pimpled noses and red faces
were sleeping beside their cups, in which were remaining a few
drops of wine, which showed plainly enough that they had gone
to sleep while drinking; when he had traversed long vestibules
and climbed staircases where the guards were snoring, his car-
bine on his shoulder,- he finally found himself in a gilded
room, and saw on a bed with open curtains the most beautiful
sight he had ever beheld, - a princess who seemed about fifteen
or sixteen, and whose resplendent beauty had something lumi-
nous and divine.
I grant that things happened in this way, it is the Wheel
who is speaking, - and up to this point the author has not been
audaciously false. But nothing is more untrue than the rest of
the tale; and I cannot admit that the awakened Beauty looked
lovingly at the prince, or that she said to him, "Is it you? you
have kept me waiting a long time. ”
If you want to know the truth, listen.
The princess stretched her arms, raised her head a little, half
opened her eyes, closed them as if afraid of the light, and sighed
long, while Puff her little dog, also awakened, yelped with rage.
«What has happened ? ” asked the fairy's goddaughter at last;
« and what do they want of me ? ”
XVII-620
## p. 9906 (#314) ###########################################
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CATULLE MENDES
The prince on his knees exclaimed:-
"He who has come is he who adores you, and who has brared
the greatest dangers” (he flattered himself a little) to draw you
from the enchantment in which you were captive. Leave this
bed where you have been sleeping for a hundred years, give me
your hand, and let us go back together into brightness and life. ”
Astonished at these words, she considered him, and could not
help smiling; for he was a very well made young prince, with
the most beautiful eyes in the world, and he spoke in a very
melodious voice,
"So it is true,” she said, pushing back her hair: “the hour is
come when I can be delivered from my long, long sleep? ”
“Yes, you can. ”
"Ah! ” said she.
And she thought. Then she went on:-
“What will happen to me if I come out of the shadows, if I
return among the living ? ”
« Can't you guess ? Have you forgotten that you are the
daughter of a king? You will see your people hastening to wel-
come you, charmed, uttering cries of pleasure, and waving gay
banners. The women and children will kiss the hem of your
gown. In short, you will be the most powerful, most honored
queen in the world. ”
"I shall like to be queen,” she said. «What else will happen
to me? ”
“You will live in a palace bright as gold; and ascending
the steps to your throne, you will tread upon mosaics of dia-
monds. The courtiers grouped about you will sing your praises.
The most august brows will incline under the all-powerful grace
of your smile. ”
“ To be praised and obeyed will be charming,” she said.
"Shall I have other pleasures ? »
« Maids of honor as skillful as the fairies. Your godmothers
will dress you in robes the color of moon and sun.
They will
powder your hair, put tiny black patches at the brink of your
eye or at the corner of your mouth. You will have a grand
golden mantle trailing after you. ”
"Good! ” she said. “I was always a little coquettish. ”
I
“Pages as pretty as birds will offer you dishes of the most
delicious sweetmeats, will pour in your cup the sweet wines which
are so fragrant. ”
((
»
## p. 9907 (#315) ###########################################
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9907
»
(
»
«That is very fine,” she said. “I was always a little greedy,
”
Will those be all of my joys ? ”
"Another delight, the greatest of all, awaits you. "
"Ah! what ? »
« You will be loved. ”
By whom? ”
« By me! - Unless you think me unworthy to claim your af-
fection. ”
“You are a fine-looking prince; and your costume is very
becoming. ”
"If you deign not to repel my prayers, I will give you my
whole heart for another kingdom of which you shall be sovereign;
and I will never cease to be the grateful slave of your cruelest
caprices.
"Ah! what happiness you promise me! ”
"Rise then, sweetheart, and follow me. ”
«Follow you ? Already? Wait a little. I must reflect. There
is doubtless more than one tempting thing among all that you
offer me; but do you know if I may not have to leave better in
order to obtain it ? »
« What do you mean, princess ? ”
"I have been sleeping for a century, it is true; but I have
been dreaming too, for a century. In my dreams I am also a
queen, and of what a divine kingdom! My palace has walls of
light. I have angels for courtiers, who celebrate me in music of
infinite sweetness. I tread on branches of stars. If you knew
what beautiful dresses I wear, the peerless fruits I have on my
table, and the honey wines in which I moisten my lips! As for
love, believe me, I don't lack that either; for I am adored by a
husband who is handsomer than all the princes of the earth, and
who has been faithful for a hundred years. Everything con-
sidered, I think, my lord, that I should gain nothing by coming
out of my enchantment. Please let me sleep. ”
Thereupon she turned toward the side of the bed, drew her
hair over her eyes, and resumed her long nap; while Puff the
little dog stopped yelping, content, her nose on her paws.
The prince went away much abashed. And since then, thanks
to the protection of the good fairies, no one has come to disturb
the slumbers of the Sleeping Beauty.
## p. 9908 (#316) ###########################################
9908
CATULLE MENDES
THE CHARITY OF SYMPATHY
From (The Humor of France)
N
O"
THE Spanish high-road, where the pretty lasses and the
handsome lads arm-in-arm were returning from the Cor-
rida, a young beggar, wrapped in his ragged cloak, asked
alms, saying he had eaten nothing for two days. Judging from
his miserable appearance and his hollow cheeks, it was plain he
did not lie. However, no one took any heed of him, occupied
as they were with singing and love. Must he be left to die of
hunger, the handsome beggar, by the roadside ?
But three girls of twenty years, plump, laughing, stopped and
took pity on him.
The first gave him a real.
“ Thank you,” he said.
The second gave him a smaller coin.
"May God reward you,” he said.
The third — the poorest and the prettiest — had neither small
coins nor reals; she gave him a kiss. The starving man spoke
never a word; but a flower-seller happening to come by, he
spent all the money they had just given him on a big bunch of
roses, and presented it to the pretty girl.
Translated by Elizabeth Lee.
THE MIRROR
From "The Humor of France)
I
I was in a kingdom in which there was no mirror. All the
mirrors — those you hang on the walls, those you hold in
your hand, those you carry on the châtelaine — had been
broken, reduced to the tiniest bits by order of the Queen. If the
smallest glass was found, no matter in what house, she never
failed to put the inhabitants to death with terrible tortures. I
can tell you the motives of the strange caprice. Ugly to a
degree that the worst monsters would have seemed charming
beside her, the Queen did not wish when she went about the
town to run the risk of encountering her reflection; and knowing
herself to be hideous, it was a consolation to her to think that
others at least could not see their beauty. What was the good
## p. 9909 (#317) ###########################################
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of having the most beautiful eyes in the world, a mouth as fresh
as roses, and of putting flowers in your hair, if you could not see
your head-dress, nor your mouth, nor your eyes? You could not
even count on your reflection in the brooks and lakes. The
rivers and ponds of the country had been hidden under deftly
joined slabs of stone; water was drawn from wells so deep that
you could not see their surface, and not in pails in which reflec-
tion would have been possible, but in almost flat troughs. The
grief was beyond anything you can imagine, especially among the
coquettes, who were not rarer in that country than in others.
And the Queen did not pity them at all; but was well content
that her subjects should be as unhappy at not seeing themselves
as she would have been furious at sight of herself.
However, there was in a suburb of the town a young girl
called Jacinthe, who was not quite so miserable as the rest, be-
cause of a lover she had. Some one who finds you beautiful, and
never tires of telling you so, can take the place of a mirror.
«What, truly ? ” she asked, "there is nothing unpleasant in
the color of my eyes ? "
« They are like corn-flowers in which a clear drop of amber
has fallen. ”
“My skin isn't black ? »
“Know that your brow is purer than snow crystals; know that
your cheeks are like roses fair yet pink! "
“What must I think of my lips ? »
« That they are like a ripe raspberry. ”
“And what of my teeth, if you please ? ”
“That grains of rice, however fine, are not as white. ”
“But about my ears, haven't I reason for disquiet ? »
“Yes, if it disquiets you to have in a tangle of light hair, two
little shells as intricate as newly opened violets. ”
Thus they talked, -she charmed, he more ravished still; for
he did not say a word which was not the very truth. All that
she had the pleasure of hearing praised, he had the delight of see-
ing. So their mutual tenderness grew livelier from hour to hour.
The day he asked if she would consent to have him for her hus-
band, she blushed, but certainly not from fear; people who seeing
her smile might have thought she was amusing herself with the
thought of saying no, would have been much mistaken. The
misfortune was, that the news of the engagement came to the
ears of the wicked Queen, whose only joy was to trouble that of
(
## p. 9910 (#318) ###########################################
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(
>>
others; and she hated Jacinthe more than all, because she was
the most beautiful of all.
Walking one day, a short time before the wedding, in the
orchard, an old woman approached Jacinthe asking alms; then
suddenly fell back with a shriek, like some one who has nearly
trodden on a toad.
"Ah, heaven! what have I seen?
What's the matter, my good woman, and what have you
seen? Speak. ”
« The ugliest thing on the face of the earth. ”
"Certainly that isn't me,” said Jacinthe, smiling.
"Alas! yes, poor child, it is you. I have been a long time in
the world, but I never yet met any one so hideous as you are. ”
“Do you mean to say that I am ugly — I? ”
“A hundred times more than it is possible to express! »
«What! my eyes ? »
“They are gray as dust; but that would be nothing if you
did not squint in the most disagreeable way. ”
My skin ?
“One would say that you had rubbed your forehead and
cheeks with coal-dust. ”
My mouth?
“It is pale like an old autumnal flower,”
My teeth ? »
“If the beauty of teeth was to be large and yellow, I should
not know any more beautiful than yours. ”
"Ah! At least my ears
They are so big, so red, and so hairy, one cannot look at
them without horror. I am not at all pretty myself, and yet I
think I should die of shame if I had the like. "
Thereupon the old woman, who must have been some wicked
fairy, a friend of the wicked Queen, fled, cruelly laughing; while
Jacinthe, all in tears, sank down on a bench under the apple-
trees.
Nothing could divert her from her affliction. “I am ugly! I
am ugly! ” she repeated unceasingly. In vain her lover assured
her of the contrary with many oaths.
« Leave me! you are lying
out of pity. I understand everything now. It is not love but
pity that you feel for me. The beggar-woman had no interest
in deceiving me; why should she do so? It is only too true: I
am hideous. I cannot conceive how you even endure the sight
((
»
(c
## p. 9911 (#319) ###########################################
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9911
>>
of me. ” In order to undeceive her, it occurred to him to make
many people visit her: every man declared that Jacinthe was
exactly made for the pleasure of eyes; several women said as
much in a fashion a little less positive. The poor child persisted
in the conviction that she was an object of horror.
« You are
planning together to impose upon me! ” and as the lover pressed
her, in spite of all, to fix the day for the wedding, "I your
wife! ” she cried, “never! I love you too tenderly to make you
a present of such a frightful thing as I am. ” You can guess the
despair of this young man, so sincerely enamored. He threw
himself on his knees, he begged, he supplicated.
