No More Learning

This bird is always alone and
without companion, for its like cannot be found, and there
is no other bird which resembles it in habits or appearance. *
At the end of five hundred years it feels that it has grown old,
and loads itself with many rare and precious spices, and flies
from the desert away to the city of Leopolis. There, by some
sign or other, the coming of the bird is announced to a priest of
that city, who causes fagots to be gathered and placed upon a
beautiful altar, erected for the bird. And so, as I have said, the
bird, laden with spices, comes to the altar, and smiting upon the
hard stone with its beak, it causes the flame to leap forth and
set fire to the wood and the spices. When the fire is burning
brightly, the phoenix lays itself upon the altar and is burned to
dust and ashes.
Then comes the priest and finds the ashes piled up, and sep-
arating them softly he finds within a little worm, which gives
forth an odor sweeter than that of roses or of any other flower.
The next day and the next the priest comes again, and on the
third day he finds that the worm has become a full-grown and
full-fledged bird, which bows low before him and flies away,
glad and joyous, nor returns again before five hundred years. †
THE ANT
HERE IS another kind of ant up in Ethiopia, which is of the
shape and size of dogs. They have strange habits, for they
scratch into the ground and extract therefrom great quan-
tities of fine gold. If any one wishes to take this gold from
them, he soon repents of his undertaking; for the ants run upon
him, and if they catch him they devour him instantly. The peo-
ple who live near them know that they are fierce and savage,
and that they possess a great quantity of gold, and so they
have invented a cunning trick. They take mares which have
*«Were man as rare as phoenix. "-(As You Like It,' iv. 3.
"But as when
The Bird of Wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her ashes new create another heir. » (Henry VIII. , v. 5.
-


## p. 1857 (#47) ############################################

BESTIARIES AND LAPIDARIES
1857
On the
unweaned foals, and give them no food for three days.
fourth the mares are saddled, and to the saddles are fastened
boxes that shine like gold. Between these people and the ants
flows a very swift river. The famished mares are driven across
this river, while the foals are kept on the hither side. On the
other side of the river the grass is rich and thick. Here the
mares graze, and the ants seeing the shining boxes think they
have found a good place to hide their gold, and so all day long
they fill and load the boxes with their precious gold, till night
comes on and the mares have eaten their fill. When they hear
the neighing of their foals they hasten to return to the other
side of the river. There their masters take the gold from the
boxes and become rich and powerful, but the ants grieve over
their loss.
THE SIREN
HE siren is a monster of strange fashion, for from the waist
it is the most thing in the world, formed in
the shape of a woman. The rest of the body is like a fish
or a bird. So sweetly and beautifully does she sing that they
who go sailing over the sea, as soon as they hear the song, can-
not keep from going towards her. Entranced by the music, they
fall asleep in their boat, and are killed by the siren before they
can utter a cry. *
THE WHALE
I
'N THE sea, which is mighty and vast, are many kinds of fish,
such as the turbot, the sturgeon, and the porpoise. But
there is one monster, very treacherous and dangerous. In
Latin its name is Cetus. It is a bad neighbor for sailors. The
upper part of its back looks like sand, and when it rises from
the sea, the mariners think it is an island. Deceived by its
size they sail toward it for refuge, when the storm comes upon
them. They cast anchor, disembark upon the back of the whale,
cook their food, build a fire, and in order to fasten their boat
they drive great stakes into what seems to them to be sand.
* References to the siren are innumerable; the most famous perhaps is
Heine's 'Lorelei. Cf. also Dante, Purgatorio, xix. 19-20.
IV-117


## p. 1858 (#48) ############################################

1858
BESTIARIES AND LAPIDARIES
When the monster feels the heat of the fire which burns upon
its back, it plunges down into the depths of the sea, and drags
the ship and all the people after it.
When the fish is hungry it opens its mouth very wide, and
breathes forth an exceedingly sweet odor. Then all the little
fish stream thither, and, allured by the sweet smell, crowd into
its throat. Then the whale closes its jaws and swallows them
into its stomach, which is as wide as a valley. *
THE CROCODILE
THE
HE crocodile is a fierce beast that lives always beside the
river Nile. In shape it is somewhat like an ox; it is full
twenty ells long, and as big around as the trunk of a tree.
It has four feet, large claws, and very sharp teeth; by means of
these it is well armed. So hard and tough is its skin, that it
minds not in the least hard blows made by sharp stones. Never
was seen another such a beast, for it lives on land and in water.
At night it is submerged in water, and during the day it reposes
upon the land.
If it meets and overcomes a man, it swallows
him entire, so that nothing remains. But ever after it laments
him as long as it lives. The upper jaw of this beast is immova-
ble when it eats, and the lower one alone moves. No other liv-
ing creature has this peculiarity. The other beast of which I
have told you (the water-serpent), which always lives in the
water, hates the crocodile with a mortal hatred.
When it sees
the crocodile sleeping on the ground with its mouth wide open,
it rolls itself in the slime and mud in order to become more
slippery. Then it leaps into the throat of the crocodile and is
swallowed down into its stomach. Here it bites and tears its
way out again, but the crocodile dies on account of its wounds.
*«Who is a whale to virginity and devours up all the fry it finds. "-
All's Well that Ends Well,' iv. 3.
"Crocodile tears »
are proverbial.
Cf:
"As the mournful crocodile
With sorrow snares relenting passengers. "-(2 Henry VI. ,' iii. 1.
"Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile. ”—‹Othello,' iv. 1.


## p. 1859 (#49) ############################################

BESTIARIES AND LAPIDARIES
1859
THE TURTLE-DOVE
NOW
I must tell you of another bird which is courteous and
beautiful, and which loves much and is much loved.
This
is the turtle-dove. The male and the female are always
together in mountain or in desert, and if perchance the female
loses her companion never more will she cease to mourn for him,
never more will she sit upon green branch or leaf. Nothing in
the world can induce her to take another mate, but she ever
remains loyal to her husband. When I consider the faithfulness
of this bird, I wonder at the fickleness of man and woman.
Many husbands and wives there are who do not love as the
turtle-dove; but if the man bury his wife, before he has eaten
two meals he desires to have another woman in his arms. The
turtle-dove does not so, but remains patient and faithful to her
companion, waiting if haply he might return. *
THE MANDRAGORA
THE
HE mandragora is a wild plant, the like of which does not
exist. Many kinds of medicine can be made of its root;
this root, if you look at it closely, will be seen to have the
form of a man. The bark is very useful; when well boiled in
water it helps many diseases. The skillful physicians gather this.
plant when it is old, and they say that when it is plucked it
weeps and cries, and if any one hears the cry he will die. But
those who gather it do this so carefully that they receive no
evil from it. If a man has a pain in his head or in his body, or
in his hand or foot, it can be cured by this herb. If you take
this plant and beat it and let the man drink of it, he will fall
asleep very softly, and no more will he feel pain. There are
two kinds of this plant,-male and female. The leaves of both
are beautiful. The leaf of the female is thick like that of the
wild lettuce.
"Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves,
That could not live asunder day or night. "-1 Henry VI. ,' ii. 2.
+"Would curses kill as doth the mandrake's groan. "- 2 Henry VI. ,' iii 2.
"Not poppy, nor mandragora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world. "-Othello,' iii. 3.


## p. 1860 (#50) ############################################

1860
BESTIARIES AND LAPIDARIES
SAPPHIRE
The following two extracts are translated from 'Les Lapidaires Français
du Moyen Âge,' by Leopold Pannier, Paris, 1882.
THE
HE sapphire is beautiful, and worthy to shine on the fingers.
of a king. In color it resembles the sky when it is pure
and free from clouds. No precious stone has greater
virtue or beauty. One kind of sapphire is found among the
pebbles in the country of Libya; but that which comes from the
land of the Turk is more precious. It is called the gem of
gems, and is of great value to men and women. It gives com-
fort to the heart and renders the limbs strong and sound. It
takes away envy and perfidy and can set the prisoner at liberty.
He who carries it about him will never have fear. It pacifies
those who are angry, and by means of it one can see into the
unknown.
It is very valuable in medicine. It cools those who are
feverish and who on account of pain are covered with perspira-
tion. When powdered and dissolved in milk it is good for
ulcers. It cures headache and diseases of the eyes and tongue.
He who wears it must live chastely and honorably; so shall he
never feel the distress of poverty.
Co green.
ORAL grows like a tree in the sea, and at first its color is
When it reaches the air it becomes hard and red.
It is half a foot in length. He who carries it will never
be afraid of lightning or tempest. The field in which it is
placed will be very fertile, and rendered safe from hail or any
other kind of storm. It drives away evil spirits, and gives a
good beginning to all undertakings and brings them to a good
end.
CORAL
-
Cf. the exquisite line of Dante, Purgatorio,' i. 13:–
'Dolce color d'oriental zaffiro. '


## p. 1861 (#51) ############################################

1861
MARIE-HENRI BEYLE (STENDHAL)
(1783-1842)
BY FREDERIC TABER COOPER
M
ARIE-HENRI BEYLE, French novelist and man of letters, who is
better known under his bizarre pseudonym of Stendhal,
is a somewhat unusual figure among French writers. He
was curiously misappreciated by his own generation, whose literary
movements he in turn confessedly ignored. He is recognized to-day
as an important link in the development of modern fiction, and is
even discussed concurrently with Balzac, in the same way that we
speak of Dickens and Thackeray, Emerson and Lowell.
HENRI BEYLE
There is nothing dramatic in Stendhal's life,
which, viewed impartially, is a simple and some-
what pathetic record of failure and disillusion.
He was six years older than Balzac, having been
born January 23d, 1783, in the small town of
Grenoble, in Dauphiné, which, with its narrow
prejudices and petty formalism, seemed to him.
in after years "the souvenir of an abominable
indigestion. " He early developed an abnormal
sensibility, which would have met with ready
response had his mother lived, but which a keen
dread of ridicule taught him to hide from an
unsympathetic father and a still more unkind aunt,-later his step-
mother, Séraphie Gagnon. He seemed predestined to be misunder-
stood-even his school companions finding him odd, and often
amusing themselves at his expense. Thus he grew up with a sense
of isolation in his own home, and when, in 1800, he had the opportun-
ity of going to some distant relatives in Paris, the Daru family, he
seized it eagerly. The following year he accompanied the younger
Darus to Italy, and was present at the battle of Marengo. This was
the turning-point of Stendhal's career. He was dazzled by Napoleon's
successes, and fascinated with the beauty and gayety of Milan, where
he found himself for the first time in a congenial atmosphere, and
among companions animated by a common cause. His consequent
sense of freedom and exaltation knew no bounds. Henceforth Napo-
leon was to be his hero, and Italy the land of his election; two life-
long passions which furnish the clew to much that is enigmatic in
his character.



## p. 1862 (#52) ############################################

1862
MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
During the ensuing years, while he followed the fortunes of Na-
poleon throughout the Prussian campaign and until after the retreat
from Moscow, Italy was always present in his thoughts, and when
Waterloo ended his political and military aspirations he hastened
back to Milan, declaring that he "had ceased to be a Frenchman,"
and settled down to a life of tranquil Bohemianism, too absorbed in
the paintings of Correggio and in the operas of Rossini to be provi-
dent of the future. The following years, the happiest of his life,
were also the period of Stendhal's chief intellectual growth, -due
quite as much to the influence exerted on him by Italian art and
music as by his contact with men like Manzoni, Monti, and Silvio
Pellico. Unfortunately, his relations with certain Italian patriots
aroused the suspicions of the Austrian police, and he was abruptly
banished. He returned to Paris, where to his surprise life proved
more than tolerable, and where he made many valuable acquaint-
ances, such as Benjamin Constant, Destutt de Tracy, and Prosper
Mérimée. The revolution of July brought him a change of fortune;
for he was in sympathy with Louis Philippe, and did not scruple to
accept the consulship offered him at Cività Vecchia. He soon found,
however, that a small Mediterranean seaport was a poor substitute
for his beloved Milan, while its trying climate undoubtedly shortened
his life. In 1841 failing health forced him to abandon his duties and
return to Paris, where he died of apoplexy on March 23d, 1842.
So much at least of Stendhal's life must be known in order to
understand his writings; all of which, not excepting the novels,
belong to what Ferdinand Brunetière stigmatizes as "personal litera-
ture. " Indeed, the chief interest of many of his books lies in the
side-lights they throw upon his curious personality. He was a man
of violent contrasts, a puzzle to his best friends; one day making the
retreat from Moscow with undaunted zeal, the next settling down
contentedly in Milan, to the very vie de café he affected to despise.
He was
a strange combination of restless energy and philosophic
contemplation; hampered by a morbid sensibility which tended to
increase, but which he flattered himself that he "had learned to hide
under an irony imperceptible to the vulgar," yet continually giving
offense to others by his caustic tongue. He seemed to need the tonic
of strong emotions, and was happiest when devoting himself heart
and soul to some person or cause, whether a Napoleon, a mistress, or
a question of philosophy. His great preoccupation was the analysis
of the human mind, an employment which in later years became a
positive detriment. He was often led to attribute ulterior motives to
his friends, a course which only served to render him morbid and
unjust; while his equally pitiless dissection of his own sensations
often robbed them of half their charm. Even love and war, his


## p. 1863 (#53) ############################################

MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
1863
favorite emotions, left him disillusioned, asking "Is that all it
amounts to? " He always had a profound respect for force of char-
acter, regarding even lawlessness as preferable to apathy; but he was
implacable towards baseness or vulgarity. Herein lies, perhaps, the
chief reason for Stendhal's ill success in life; he would never stoop
to obsequiousness or flattery, and in avoiding even the semblance of
self-interest, allowed his fairest chances to pass him by. "I have
little regret for my lost opportunities," he wrote in 1835. "In place
of ten thousand, I might be getting twenty; in place of Chevalier, I
might be Officer of the Legion of Honor: but I should have had to
think three or four hours a day of those platitudes of ambition which
are dignified by the name of politics; I should have had to commit
many base acts:" a brief but admirable epitome of Stendhal's whole
life and character.
Aside from his works of fiction, Stendhal's works may be conven-
iently grouped under biographies,-"Vie de Haydn, de Mozart, et de
Metastase,' 'Vie de Napoléon,' 'Vie de Rossini'; literary and artistic
criticism,'Histoire de la Peinture en Italie,' 'Racine et Shakespeare,'
'Mélanges d'Art et de Littérature'; travels, 'Rome, Naples, et
Florence,' 'Promenades dans Rome,' 'Mémoires d'un Touriste'; and
one volume of sentimental psychology, his 'Essai sur l'Amour,' to
which Bourget owes the suggestion of his 'Physiologie de l'Amour
Moderne. ' Many of these works merit greater popularity, being
written in an easy, fluent style, and relieved by his inexhaustible
fund of anecdote and personal reminiscence. His books of travel,
especially, are charming causeries, full of a sympathetic spontaneity
which more than atones for their lack of method; his 'Walks in
Rome' is more readable than two-thirds of the books since written
on that subject.
-
Stendhal's present vogue, however, is due primarily to his novels,
to which he owes the almost literal fulfillment of his prophecy that
he would not be appreciated until 1880. Before that date they had
been comparatively neglected, in spite of Balzac's spontaneous and
enthusiastic tribute to the Chartreuse de Parme,' and the appre-
ciative criticisms of Taine and Prosper Mérimée. The truth is that
Stendhal was in some ways a generation behind his time, and often
has an odd, old-fashioned flavor suggestive of Marivaux and Crébillon
fils. On the other hand, his psychologic tendency is distinctly mod-
ern, and not at all to the taste of an age which found Chateaubriand
or Madame de Staël eminently satisfactory. But he appeals strongly
to the speculating, self-questioning spirit of the present day, and Zola
and Bourget in turn have been glad to claim kinship with him.
Stendhal, however, cannot be summarily labeled and dismissed as
a realist or psychologue in the modern acceptation of the term,


## p. 1864 (#54) ############################################

1864
MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
although he was a pioneer in both fields. He had a sovereign con-
tempt for literary style or method, and little dreamed that he would
one day be regarded as the founder of a school. It must be remem-
bered that he was a soldier before he was a man of letters, and his
love of adventure occasionally got the better of his love of logic,
making his novels a curious mixture of convincing truth and wild
romanticism. His heroes are singularly like himself, a mixture of
morbid introspection and restless energy: he seems to have taken
special pleasure in making them succeed where he had failed in life,
and when the spirit of the story-teller gets the better of the psycholo-
gist, he sends them on a career of adventure which puts to shame
Dumas père or Walter Scott. And yet Stendhal was a born analyst,
a self-styled "observer of the human heart"; and the real merit of
his novels lies in the marvelous fidelity with which he interprets the
emotions, showing the inner workings of his hero's mind from day to
day, and multiplying petty details with convincing logic. But in his
preoccupation for mental conditions he is apt to lose sight of the
material side of life, and the symmetry of his novels is marred by a
meagreness of physical detail and a lack of atmosphere. Zola has
laid his finger upon Stendhal's real weakness when he points out that
"the landscape, the climate, the time of day, the weather, — Nature
herself, in other words, - never seems to intervene and exert an influ-
ence on his characters"; and he cites a passage which in point of
fact admirably illustrates his meaning, the scene from the 'Rouge et
Noir,' where Julien endeavors to take the hand of Mme. de Rênal,
which he characterizes as "a little mute drama of great power," add-
ing in conclusion:- "Give that episode to an author for whom the
milieu exists, and he will make the night, with its odors, its voices,
its soft voluptuousness, play a part in the defeat of the woman.
And that author will be in the right; his picture will be more com-
plete. " It is this tendency to leave nature out of consideration which
gives Stendhal's characters a flavor of abstraction, and caused Sainte-
Beuve to declare in disgust that they were "not human beings, but
ingeniously constructed automatons. " Yet it is unfair to conclude
with Zola, that Stendhal was a man for whom the outside world did
not exist; he was not insensible to the beauties of nature, only he
looked upon them as a secondary consideration. After a sympathetic
description of the Rhône valley, he had to add, "But the interest of
a landscape is insufficient; in the long run, some moral or historical
interest is indispensable. " Yet he recognized explicitly the influence.
of climate and environment upon character, and seems to have been
sensible of his own shortcomings as an author. "I abhor material
descriptions," he confesses in Souvenirs d'Égotisme: "the ennui of
making them deters me from writing novels. "


## p. 1865 (#55) ############################################

MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
1865
•
Nevertheless, aside from his short 'Chroniques' and 'Nouvelles,'
and the posthumous Lamiel' which he probably intended to destroy,
Stendhal has left four stories which deserve detailed consideration:
'Armance,' 'Le Rouge et Le Noir,' 'La Chartreuse de Parme,' and
the fragmentary novel 'Lucien Leuwen. '
As has been justly pointed out by Stendhal's sympathetic biogra-
pher, Edouard Rod, the heroes of the four books are essentially of
one type, and all more or less faithful copies of himself; having
in common a need of activity, a thirst for love, a keen sensibility,
and an unbounded admiration for Napoleon-and differing only by
reason of the several milieus in which he has placed them. The first
of these, 'Armance,' appeared in 1827. The hero, Octave, is an aris-
tocrat, son of the Marquis de Malivert, who "was very rich before
the Revolution, and when he returned to Paris in 1814, thought him-
self beggared on an income of twenty or thirty thousand. ” Octave
is the most exaggerated of all Stendhal's heroes; a mysterious, som-
bre being, "a misanthrope before his time"; coupling with his pride.
of birth a consciousness of its vanity:-"Had heaven made me the
son of a manufacturer of cloth, I should have worked at my desk
from the age of sixteen, while now my sole occupation has been
luxury. I should have had less pride and more happiness. Ah, how
I despise myself! " Yet it is part of Octave's pretensions to regard
himself as superior to love. When he discovers his passion for his
cousin Armance, he is overwhelmed with despair: "I am in love," he
said in a choked voice, "I, in love! Great God! " The object of this
reluctant passion, Armance de Zohiloff, is a poor orphan, dependent
upon a rich relative.
Like Octave, she struggles against her affec-
tion, but for better reasons: "The world will look upon me as a
lady's-maid who has entrapped the son of the family. " The history
of their long and secret struggle against this growing passion, com-
plicated by outside incidents and intrigues, forms the bulk of the
volume. At last Octave is wounded in a duel, and moved by the
belief that he is dying, they mutually confess their affection. Octave
unexpectedly recovers, and as Armance about this time receives an
inheritance from a distant relative, the story promises to end hap-
pily; but at the last moment he is induced to credit a calumny
against her, and commits suicide, when Armance retires to a con-
vent. The book is distinctly inferior to his later efforts, and M. Rod
is the first to find hidden beauties in it.
Very different was his next book, 'Le Rouge et Le Noir,' the
Army and the Priesthood, which appeared in 1830, and is now recog-
nized as Stendhal's masterpiece. As its singular name is intended
to imply, it deals with the changed social conditions which con-
fronted the young men of France after the downfall of Napoleon,-


## p. 1866 (#56) ############################################

1866
MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
the reaction against war and military glory in favor of the Church;
a topic which greatly occupied Stendhal, and which is well summed
up in the words of his hero Julien :- "When Bonaparte made him-
self talked about, France was afraid of invasion; military merit was
necessary and fashionable. To-day one sees priests of forty with
appointments of a hundred thousand francs, three times that of
Napoleon's famous generals; " and he concludes, "The thing to do is
to be a priest. "
This Julien Sorel is the son of a shrewd but ignorant peasant,
owner of a prosperous saw-mill in the small town of Verrières, in
Franche-Comté. "He was a small young man, of feeble appearance,
with irregular but delicate features, and an aquiline nose;
who could have divined that that girlish face, so pale and gentle,
hid an indomitable resolution to expose himself to a thousand deaths
sooner than not make his fortune? " His only schooling is gained
from a cousin, an old army surgeon, who taught him Latin and
inflamed his fancy with stories of Napoleon, and from the aged Abbé
Chélan who grounds him in theology, -for Julien had proclaimed his
intention of studying for the priesthood. By unexpected good luck,
his Latin earned him an appointment as tutor to the children of
M. de Rênal, the pompous and purse-proud Mayor of Verrières.
Julien is haunted by his peculiar notions of duties which he owes it
to himself to perform as steps towards his worldly advancement; for
circumstances have made him a consummate hypocrite. One of these
duties is to make love to Mme. de Rênal: "Why should he not be
loved as Bonaparte, while still poor, had been loved by the brilliant
Mme. de Beauharnais? " His pursuit of the Mayor's gentle and inex-
perienced wife proves only too successful, but at last reaches the ears
of the Abbé Chélan, whose influence compels Julien to leave Verrières
and go to the Seminary at Besançon, to finish his theological studies.
His stay at the Seminary was full of disappointment, for "it was in
vain that he made himself small and insignificant, he could not
please: he was too different. " At last he has a chance to go to
Paris, as secretary to the influential Marquis de La Mole, who inter-
ests himself in Julien and endeavors to advance him socially. The
Marquis has a daughter, Mathilde, a female counterpart of Stendhal's
heroes; with exalted ideas of duty, and a profound reverence for
Marguerite of Navarre, who dared to ask the executioner for the head
of her lover, Boniface de La Mole, executed April 30th, 1574. Ma-
thilde always assumed mourning on April 30th. "I know of nothing,"
she declared, "except condemnation to death, which distinguishes a
man: it is the only thing which cannot be bought. " Julien soon con-
ceives it his duty to win Mathilde's affections, and the love passages
which ensue between these two "ésprits supérieurs" are singular in
·


## p. 1867 (#57) ############################################

MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
1867
the extreme: they arrive at love only through a complicated intellect-
ual process, in which the question of duty, either to themselves or to
each other, is always paramount. At last it becomes necessary to
confess their affection to the Marquis, who is naturally furious. "For
the first time in his life this nobleman forgot his manners: he over-
whelmed him with atrocious insults, worthy of a cab-driver. Perhaps
the novelty of these oaths was a distraction. " What hurts him most
is that Mathilde will be plain Mme. Sorel and not a duchess. But at
this juncture the father receives a letter from Mme. de Rênal, tell-
ing of her relations with Julien, and accusing him of having deliber-
ately won Mathilde in order to possess her wealth. Such baseness
the Marquis cannot pardon, and at any cost he forbids the marriage.
Julien returns immediately to Verrières, and finding Mme. de Rênal
in church, deliberately shoots her. She ultimately recovers from her
wound, but Julien is nevertheless condemned and guillotined. Mme.
de Rênal dies of remorse, while Mathilde, emulating Marguerite de
Navarre, buries Julien's head with her own hands.
The Chartreuse de Parme,' although written the same year as
the 'Rouge et Noir,' was not published until 1839, two years before
his death, and was judged his best effort. "He has written The
Modern Prince,'» declared Balzac, "the book which Macchiavelli would
have written if he had been living exiled from Italy in the nineteenth
century. " The action takes place at Parma; and as a picture of court
life in a small Italian principality, with all its jealousies and intrigues,
the book is certainly a masterpiece. But it is marred by the extrava-
gance of its plot. The hero, Fabrice, is the younger son of a proud
and bigoted Milanese nobleman, the Marquis del Dongo, who "joined
a sordid avarice to a host of other fine qualities," and in his devotion
to the House of Austria was implacable towards Napoleon. Fabrice,
however, was "a young man susceptible of enthusiasm," and on
learning of Napoleon's return from Elba, hastened secretly to join
him, and participated in the battle of Waterloo. This escapade is
denounced by his father to the Austrian police, and on his return
Fabrice is forced to take refuge in Swiss territory. About this time
his aunt Gina, the beautiful Countess Pietranera, goes to live at
Parma; and to conceal a love affair with the prime minister Mosca
marries the old Duke of Sanseverina-Taxis, who obligingly leaves on
his wedding-day for a distant embassy. Gina has always felt a
strong interest for Fabrice, which later ripens into a passion. It is
agreed that Fabrice shall study for the priesthood, and that Count
Mosca will use his influence to have him made Archbishop of Parma,
an office frequently held in the past by Del Dongos. Unfortunately
Fabrice is drawn into a quarrel with a certain Giletti, a low comedy
actor, whom he kills in self-defense. Ordinarily the killing of a


## p. 1868 (#58) ############################################

1868
MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
fellow of Giletti's stamp by a Del Dongo would have been considered
a trifling matter; but this offense assumes importance through the
efforts of a certain political faction to discredit the minister through
his protégé. The situation is further complicated by the Prince, Ernest
IV. , who has come under the spell of Gina's beauty, and furious at
finding her obdurate, is glad of an opportunity to humiliate her.
Fabrice is condemned to ten years' imprisonment in the Farnese
tower, the Prince treacherously disregarding his promise of pardon.
From this point the plot becomes fantastic. From his window in the
tower, Fabrice overlooks that of Clélia, daughter of General Fabio
Conti, governor of the prison. It is a case of mutual love at first
sight, and for months the two hold communication by signs above
the heads of the passing sentries. After his fabulous escape, effected
by the help of his aunt, Fabrice is inconsolable, and at length returns
voluntarily to the tower in order to be near Clélia. It is not until
after the death of the Prince that the Duchess obtains Fabrice's
pardon from his son and successor. At last Clélia dies, and Fabrice
enters the neighboring monastery, the Chartreuse of Parma.
Fabrice's experiences on the battle-field of Waterloo, where as a
raw youth he first "smelled powder," are recounted with a good deal
of realistic detail. They suggest a comparison with a book of more
recent date devoted to a similar subject, Stephen Crane's 'Red Badge
of Courage,' though of course the latter does not approach Stendhal
in artistic self-restraint and mastery over form.
<
«<
The remaining novel, 'Lucien Leuwen,' was left in an unfinished
state, and thus published after the author's death, under the title of
'Le Chasseur Vert. ' Recently they have been republished, under
the name of 'Lucien Leuwen,' with additional material which the
editor, M. Jean de Mitty, claims to have deciphered from almost
illegible manuscripts found in the library at Grenoble.
But even
without these additions there is enough to show that 'Lucien
Leuwen' would have been one of his best efforts, second only, per-
haps, to the Rouge et Noir. ' The hero, Lucien, is the son of a rich
financier, who was never out of temper and never took a serious
tone with his son," but cheerfully paid his debts, saying "A son is
a creditor provided by nature. ” Out of mere ennui from lack of
serious employment, Lucien enters as sub-lieutenant a regiment of
Lancers in garrison at Nancy. He has no illusions about military
life in times of peace:-"I shall wage war only upon cigars; I shall
become the pillager of a military café in the gloomy garrison of an
ill-paved little town. .
What glory! My soul will be well
caught when I present myself to Napoleon in the next world. No
doubt,' he will say, 'you were dying of hunger when you took up
this life? ' 'No, General. ' I shall reply, I thought I was imitating


## p. 1869 (#59) ############################################

MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
1869
you. '» His early experiences at Nancy, his subsequent meeting with
and love for Mme. de Chasteller, are admirable equally for their
moderation and their fidelity.
Since Stendhalism has become a cult, so much has been written
on the subject that a complete bibliography of Stendhaliana would
occupy several pages. Aside from the well-known criticisms of Bal-
zac, Taine, and Sainte-Beuve, the most important contributions to the
subject are the article by Zola in 'Romanciers Naturalistes,' that
by Bourget in 'Essais de Psychologie Contemporaine,' and the biogra-
phy by Edouard Rod in the 'Grands Écrivains Français' (Great
French Writers) Series. Thanks to the zeal of M. Casimir Stry-
ienski, a considerable amount of autobiographical material has lately
been brought to light: Journal de Stendhal,' 'Vie de Henri Brou-
lard,' and Souvenirs d'Égotisme,' which, together with his 'Corre-
spondence,' are indispensable for a true knowledge of the man.
<
Frederis Taber Cooper
PRINCESS SANSEVERINA'S INTERVIEW
From La Chartreuse de Parme>
WHIL
HILE Fabrice was gone a-hunting after love adventures in
a small village close by Parma, the Fiscal General, Rassi,
unaware that he was so near, continued to treat his case
as though he had been a Liberal. The witnesses for the defense
he pretended that he could not find, or rather that he had fright-
ened them off; and finally, after nearly a year of such sharp
practice, and about two months after Fabrice's last return to
Bologna, on a certain Friday, the Marquise Raversi, intoxicated
with joy, stated publicly in her salon that on the following day
"the sentence which had just been passed upon that little Del
Dongo would be presented to the Prince for signature, and would
be approved by him. " Shortly afterwards the Duchess learned
these remarks of her enemy.
"The Count must be very poorly served by his agents," she
said to herself: "only this morning he was sure that sentence
could not be passed inside of a week: perhaps he would not be
sorry to have my young Grand Vicar removed from Parma some
day. But," she added, we shall see him come back, and he
shall be our Archbishop. " The Duchess rang.


## p. 1870 (#60) ############################################

1870
MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
"Summon all the servants to the waiting-room," she said to
her valet-de-chambre, "even the cooks; go and obtain from the
officer in command the requisite permit for four post-horses; and
see that in less than half an hour these horses are attached to
my landau. " All her women were soon busied in packing the
trunks: the Duchess hastily donned a traveling dress, without
once sending word to the Count; the idea of amusing herself at
his expense filled her with joy.
"My friend," she said to the assembled servants, "is about
to suffer condemnation by default for having had the audacity to
defend his life against a madman; it was Giletti who meant
to kill him. You have all been able to see how gentle and in-
offensive Fabrice's character is. Justly incensed at this atrocious
injury, I am starting for Florence. I shall leave ten years' wages
for each of you; if you are unhappy, write to me; and so long
as I have a sequin, there shall be something for you. ”
The Duchess felt exactly as she spoke, and at her last words
the servants burst into tears; she herself had moist eyes. She
added in a voice of emotion: "Pray to God for me and for
Monsigneur Fabrice del Dongo, first Grand Vicar of this Diocese,
who will be condemned to-morrow morning to the galleys, or
what would be less stupid, to the penalty of death. "
The tears of the servants redoubled, and little by little
changed into cries which were very nearly seditious. The Duch-
ess entered her carriage and drove directly to the palace of the
Prince. In spite of the untimely hour, she solicited an audience,
through General Fontana, acting aide-de-camp. She was nowise
in full court toilette, a fact which threw that aide-de-camp into
a profound stupor.
The Prince, for his part, was by no means surprised, still
less annoyed, at this request for an audience. "We are going
to see tears shed by lovely eyes," said he, rubbing his hands;
"she is coming to ask for grace; at last that proud beauty
has to humble herself! Really she has been too insupportable
with her little independent airs! Those eloquent eyes always
seemed to be saying to me, at the least thing which annoyed
her, Naples or Milan would be an abode offering very different
attractions from those of your small town of Parma. ' True
enough, I do not reign over Naples or Milan; but all the same,
this fine lady has come to ask me something which depends
exclusively upon me, and which she is burning to obtain. I


## p. 1871 (#61) ############################################

MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
1871
always thought the coming of that nephew would give me some
hold upon her. "
While the Prince was smiling over his thoughts, and giving
himself up to all these agreeable anticipations, he was striding up
and down his cabinet, at the door of which General Fontana still
remained standing, erect and stiff as a soldier at carry-arms.
Seeing the Prince's flashing eye and recalling the Duchess's
traveling dress, he prepared for a dissolution of the monarchy.
His confusion knew no bounds when he heard the Prince's order:
"Beg Madame the Duchess to wait a small quarter of an hour. ”
The general-aide-de-camp executed a right-about-face, like a sol-
dier on parade; the Prince still smiled. "Fontana is not accus-
tomed," he said to himself, "to see our proud Duchess kept
waiting. The astonished face with which he has gone to tell her
'to wait that small quarter of an hour' will pave the way for
those touching tears which this cabinet is about to witness. "
This small quarter of an hour was delicious to the Prince; he
paced the floor with a firm and measured step, he reigned.
"The important thing now is to say nothing which is not per-
fectly in keeping. It will not do to forget that she is one of
the highest ladies of my court. How would Louis XIV. have
spoken to the princesses his daughters when he had occasion to
be displeased with them? " and his eyes sought the portrait of
the great king.
The amusing part of the matter was that the Prince did not
even think of asking himself whether he would show clemency to
Fabrice, and how far such clemency would go. Finally, at the
end of twenty minutes, the faithful Fontana presented himself
anew at the door, but without uttering a word. "The Duch-
ess Sanseverina may enter," cried the Prince with a theatrical
air.
"The tears are about to commence," he told himself, and
as if to be prepared for such a spectacle, he drew out his hand-
kerchief.
Never had the Duchess appeared so gay and charming; she
did not look twenty-five. The poor aide-de-camp, seeing that her
light and rapid footstep barely seemed to skim the carpet, was on
the point of losing his reason once for all.
“I must crave many pardons of your Most Serene Highness,"
said the Duchess in her soft tones of careless gayety: "I have
taken the liberty of presenting myself in a toilette which is not
altogether appropriate; but your Highness has so accustomed me


## p. 1872 (#62) ############################################

1872
MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
to his favors that I have ventured to hope that he would accord
me this additional grace. "
The Duchess spoke quite slowly, so as to give herself time to
enjoy the expression of the Prince. It was delicious, on account
of his profound astonishment, and that remnant of grand airs
which the pose of his head and arms still betrayed. The Prince
had remained as if struck by a thunderbolt; from time to time,
he exclaimed, in his high-pitched voice, shrill and perturbed, as
though articulating with difficulty: "How is this? how is this? »
After concluding her compliment, the Duchess, as though from
respect, afforded him ample time to reply; then she added:
·-
"I venture to hope that your Most Serene Highness will
deign to pardon the incongruity of my costume:" but as she
spoke, her mocking eyes flashed with so bright a gleam that the
Prince could not meet them. He looked at the ceiling, a sign
with him of the most extreme embarrassment.
"How is this? how is this? " he said to himself again; then
by good luck, he found a phrase: "Madame la Duchesse, pray
be seated," and he himself pushed forward a chair, with fairly
good grace. The Duchess was by no means insensible to this
attention, and she moderated the petulance of her glance.
"How is this? how is this? " still repeated the Prince in-
wardly, shifting so uneasily in his chair that one would have
said that he could not find a secure position.
"I am going to take advantage of the freshness of the night
to travel post," resumed the Duchess, "and as my absence may
be of some duration, I was unwilling to leave the territory of
your Most Serene Highness without expressing my thanks for
all the favors which for five years your Highness has deigned to
show me. " At these words the Prince at last understood; he
turned pale. It was as man of the world that he felt it most
keenly, on finding himself mistaken in his predictions. Then he
assumed a grand air, in every way worthy of the portrait of
Louis XIV. , which was before his eyes. "Admirable," said the
Duchess to herself, "there is a man. "
"And what is the motive of this sudden departure? " asked
the Prince, in a fairly firm tone.
"I have contemplated leaving, for some time," replied the
Duchess, "and a slight insult which has been shown to Mon-
signor del Dongo, who is to be condemned to-morrow to death
or to the galleys makes me hasten my departure. "


## p. 1873 (#63) ############################################

MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
1873
"And to what city are you going? "
"To Naples, I think. " As she arose, she added, "It only
remains for me to take leave of your Most Serene Highness,
and to thank him very humbly for all his earlier kindnesses. "
She, on her part, spoke with so firm an air that the Prince saw
clearly that in a few seconds all would be finished. He knew
that if a triumphant departure was once effected, all compromise
would be impossible. She was not the woman to retrace her
steps. He hastened after her.
"But you know very well, Madame la Duchesse," he said,
taking her hand, "that I have always regarded you with a
friendship to which it needed only a word from you to give
another name. But a murder has been committed; there is no
way of denying that. I have intrusted the conduct of the case
to my best judges
At these words the Duchess drew herself up to her full
height. All semblance of respect, or even of urbanity, disap-
peared in a flash. The outraged woman was clearly revealed,
the outraged woman addressing herself to the one whom she
knows to be of bad faith. It was with an expression of keenest
anger and even of contempt that she said to the Prince, dwell-
ing upon every word:
"I am leaving forever the States of your Most Serene High-
ness, in order that I shall never again hear mentioned the Fiscal
Rassi, or the other infamous assassins who have condemned my
nephew and so many others to death. If your Most Serene High-
ness does not wish to mingle a tinge of bitterness with the last
moments which I am to pass with a prince who is both polite
and entertaining when he is not misled, I beg him very humbly
not to recall the thought of those infamous judges who sell
themselves for a thousand crowns or a decoration. "
The admirable accent, and above all the tone of sincerity,
with which these words were uttered, made the Prince tremble;
for an instant he feared to see his dignity compromised by a
still more direct accusation. On the whole, however, his sensa-
tions quickly culminated in one of pleasure. He admired the
Duchess, and at this moment her entire person attained a sub-
lime beauty.
"Heavens! how beautiful she is," the Prince said to himself:
(( one may well overlook something in so unique a woman, one
whose like perhaps is not to be found in all Italy. Well,
-
IV-118


## p. 1874 (#64) ############################################

1874
MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
with a little diplomacy it might not be altogether impossible
to make her mine. -There is a wide difference between such
a being and that doll of a Marquise Balbi; besides, the latter
steals at least three hundred thousand francs a year from my
poor subjects. But did I understand her aright? " he thought
all of a sudden: "she said, 'condemned my nephew and so many
others. " His anger came to the surface, and it was with a
haughtiness worthy of supreme rank that the Prince said, "And
what must be done to keep Madame from leaving? »
"Something of which you are not capable,” replied the Duch-
ess, with an accent of the bitterest irony and the most thinly
disguised contempt.
The Prince was beside himself, but thanks to his long practice
of the profession of absolute sovereign, he found the strength to
resist his first impulse. "That woman must be mine," he said
to himself. "I owe myself at least that; then I must let her
perish under my contempt. If she leaves this room, I shall never
see her again. " But, intoxicated as he was at this moment with
wrath and hatred, how was he to find words which would at once
satisfy what was due to himself and induce the Duchess not to
desert his court on the instant? "A gesture," he thought, "is
something which can neither be repeated nor turned into ridi-
cule," and he went and placed himself between the Duchess and
the door of his cabinet. Just then he heard a slight tapping at
this door.
"Who is this jackanapes? " he cried, at the top of his lungs,
"who is this jackanapes who comes here, thrusting his idiotic
presence upon me? " Poor General Fontana showed his face, pale
and in evident discomfiture, and with the air of a man at his
last gasp, indistinctly pronounced these words:-"His Excellency
Count Mosca solicits the honor of being admitted. "
"Let him enter," said the Prince in a loud voice; and as
Mosca made his salutation, greeted him with:
"Well, sir, here is Madame the Duchess Sanseverina, who
declares that she is on the point of leaving Parma to go and
settle at Naples, and has made me saucy speeches into the
bargain. "
―――――――――
"How is this? " said Mosca, turning pale.
"What, then you knew nothing of this project of departure?
"Not the first word. At six o'clock I left Madame joyous
and contented. "
>>


## p. 1875 (#65) ############################################

MARIE-HENRI BEYLE
1875
This speech produced an incredible effect upon the Prince.
First he glanced at Mosca, whose growing pallor proved that he
spoke the truth and was in no way the accomplice of the
Duchess's sudden freak. "In that case," he said to himself, "I
am losing her forever. Pleasure and vengeance, everything is
escaping me at once. At Naples she will make epigrams with
her nephew Fabrice, about the great wrath of the little Prince
of Parma.