No More Learning

Above all, read Livy again and again. I prefer him infi-
nitely to Tacitus, and am glad to find that Voss is of the same
opinion. There is no other author who exercises such a gentle
despotism over the eyes and ears of his readers, as Livy among
the Romans and Thucydides among the Greeks. Quinctilian calls
Livy's fullness "sweet as milk," and his eloquence "indescrib-
able"; in my judgment, too, it equals and often even surpasses
that of Cicero. The latter
intellect, wit;
but he attempted a richness of style for
which he lacked that heavenly repose of the intellect, which Livy
like Homer must have possessed, and among the moderns, Féne-
lon and Garve in no common degree. Very different was Demos-
thenes, who was always concise like Thucydides. And to rise to
conciseness and vigor of style is the highest that we moderns
can well attain; for we cannot write from our whole soul: and
hence we cannot expect another perfect epic poem. The quicker
beats the life-pulse of the world, the more each one is compelled
to move in epicycles, the less can calm, mighty repose of the
spirit be ours. I am writing to you as if I were actually living
in this better world; and nothing is further from the truth.
possessed infinite acuteness,
·
.
·
·
·
NOTE. For fuller treatment of these topics we refer the reader to
Niebuhr's letters, and especially to the epistle to a young philologist,
'Life and Letters,' pages 423-430.


## p. 10665 (#545) ##########################################

10665
NIZĀMĪ
(1141-1203)
BY A. V. WILLIAMS JACKSON
IZĀMĪ's name as a Persian poet is one that is not so well known
in the Occident as the name of Firdausī, Hafiz, or Sa'di;
but Nizāmī is one of the foremost classic writers of Persian
literature, and there is authority for regarding his genius as second.
only to Firdausī in the romantic epic style. He was a native of west-
ern Persia, and was born in the year 1141. He is generally spoken
of as Nizāmī of Ganjah, and that seems to have been his home dur-
ing most of his life, and he died there in his sixty-third year (A. D.
1203). Nizāmi was brought up in an atmosphere of religious asceti-
cism, but his life was brightened by the illumination which came with
the divine poetic gift; his talents won him court favor, but his choice
was retirement and quiet meditation, and there was a certain halo of
sanctity about his person.
It is interesting to the literary student to think of this epic
romanticist as writing in Persia at a time when the strain of the
romantic epopee was just beginning to be heard among the minstrels
of Provence and Normandy, and the music of its notes was awakening
English ears. And yet Nizāmī's first poetic production, the 'Makhzan-
al-asrar,' or 'Storehouse of Mysteries,' was rather a work of religious
didacticism than of romance, and its title shows the Sufi tinge of
mystic speculation. Nizami's heart and true poetic bent, however,
became evident shortly afterwards in the charming story in verse of
the romantic love of Khusrau and Shirin,' which is one of the most
imaginative tales in literature, and it established Nizāmī's claim to
renown at the age of forty. The subject is the old Sassanian tradi-
tion of King Khusrau's love for the fair Armenian princess Shirin,
who is alike beloved by the gifted young sculptor Farhad; the latter
accomplishes an almost superhuman feat of chiseling through mount-
ains at the royal bidding, in hopes of winning the fair one's hand,
but meets his death in fulfilling the task imposed by his kingly rival.
In Nizami's second romantic poem, 'Laila and Majnun,' we grieve
at the sorrows of two lovers whose devotion stands in the Orient
for the love of Eloisa and Abelard, Petrarch and Laura, Isabella and
Lorenzo; while likenesses to Ariosto's Orlando Furioso' have been


## p. 10666 (#546) ##########################################

10666
NIZĀMI
suggested. The tragic fate of Laila and Majnun, the children of two
rival Bedouin tribes, is a love tale of pre-Islamic times; for Nizāmī's
subjects were never chosen from truly orthodox Mohammedan themes.
His 'Seven Portraits' (Haft Paikar) is a series of romantic love
stories of the seven favorite wives of King Bahrām Gōr, and leads
back again to Sassanian days. The 'Iskandar Nāmah,' or 'Alexander
Book,' is a combination of romantic fiction and of philosophy in epic
style, which makes the work one of special interest in connection
with the romances which form a cycle, in various literatures, about
the name of Alexander the Great. The five works above mentioned
are gathered into a collection known as the 'Five Treasures' (Panj
Ganj), and in addition to these Nizāmī also produced a 'Dīvān,' or
collection of short poems; so that his literary fertility is seen to be
considerable.
The selections which are here presented are drawn from Atkin-
son's 'Lailā and Majnun,' London, 1836, and from S. Robinson's
'Persian Poetry for English Readers' (privately printed, Glasgow,
1883). Those who are interested will find further bibliographical ref-
erences in Ethé's contribution in Geiger's 'Grundriss der Iranischen
Philologie, Vol. ii. , page 243.
1 Jackans
A. r. Willams
FROM NIZĀMI'S LAILĀ AND MAJNŪN'
[Laila and Majnun are children of rival tribes. ]
SHA
HAIKHS of each tribe have children there, and each
Studies whate'er the bearded sage can teach.
Thence his attainments Kais [Majnūn] assiduous drew,
And scattered pearls from lips of ruby hue:
And there, of different tribe and gentle mien,
A lovely maid of tender years was seen;
Her mental powers an early bloom displayed;
Her peaceful form in simple garb arrayed;
Bright as the morn her cypress shape, and eyes
Dark as the stag's, were viewed with fond surprise:
And when her cheek this Arab moon revealed,
A thousand hearts were won; no pride, no shield,
Could check her beauty's power, resistless grown,
Given to enthrall and charm- but chiefly one.


## p. 10667 (#547) ##########################################

NIZĀMĪ
10667
Her richly flowing locks were black as night,
And Laila she was called-that heart's delight:
One single glance the nerves to frenzy wrought,
One single glance bewildered every thought;
And when o'er Kais [Majnun] affection's blushing rose
Diffused its sweetness, from him fled repose:
Tumultuous passion danced upon his brow;
He sought to woo her, but he knew not how.
He gazed upon her cheek, and as he gazed,
Love's flaming taper more intensely blazed.
Soon mutual pleasure warmed each other's heart;
Love conquered both-they never dreamt to part:
And while the rest were poring o'er their books,
They pensive mused, and read each other's looks;
While other schoolmates for distinction strove,
And thought of fame, they only thought of love;
While others various climes in books explored,
Both idly sat-adorer and adored.
Science for them had now no charms to boast;
Learning for them had all its virtues lost;
Their only taste was love, and love's sweet ties,
And writing ghazels to each other's eyes.
Yes, love triumphant came, engrossing all
The fond luxuriant thoughts of youth and maid;
And whilst subdued in that delicious thrall,
Smiles and bright tears upon their features played.
Then in soft converse did they pass the hours,
Their passion, like the season, fresh and fair;
Their opening path seemed decked with balmiest flowers,
Their melting words as soft as summer air.
Immersed in love so deep,
They hoped suspicion would be lulled asleep,
And none be conscious of their amorous state;
They hoped that none with prying eye,
And gossip tongue invidiously,
Might to the busy world its truth relate.
And thus possessed, they anxious thought
Their passion would be kept unknown;
Wishing to seem what they were not,
Though all observed their hearts were one.


## p. 10668 (#548) ##########################################

10668
NIZĀMĪ
[The lovers are separated. ]
Laila had, with her kindred, been removed
Among the Nijid mountains, where
She cherished still the thoughts of him she loved,
And her affection thus more deeply proved
Amid that wild retreat. Kais [Majnun] sought her there;
Sought her in rosy bower and silent glade,
Where the tall palm-trees flung refreshing shade.
He called upon her name again;
Again he called,-alas! in vain;
His voice unheard, though raised on every side;
Echo alone to his lament replied;
And Laila! Laila! rang around,
As if enamored of that magic sound.
Dejected and forlorn, fast falling dew
Glistened upon his cheeks of pallid hue;
Through grove and frowning glen he lonely strayed,
And with his griefs the rocks were vocal made.
Beautiful Lailā! had she gone for ever?
Could he that thought support? oh, never, never!
Whilst deep emotion agonized his breast.
[Still Laila thinks only of her beloved Majnun. ]
The gloomy veil of night withdrawn,
How sweetly looks the silvery dawn;
Rich blossoms laugh on every tree,
Like men of fortunate destiny,
Or the shining face of revelry.
The crimson tulip and golden rose
Their sweets to all the world disclose.
I mark the glittering pearly wave
The fountain's banks of emerald lave;
The birds in every arbor sing,
And the very raven hails the spring;
The partridge and the ring-dove raise
Their joyous notes of songs of praise;
But bulbuls, through the mountain-vale,
Like Majnun, chant a mournful tale.
The season of the rose has led
Laila to her favorite bower;
Her cheeks the softest vermil-red,
Her eyes the modest sumbul flower.


## p. 10669 (#549) ##########################################

NIZĀMI
10669
She has left her father's painted hall,
She has left the terrace where she kept
Her secret watch till evening fall,
And where she oft till midnight wept.
A golden fillet sparkling round
Her brow, her raven tresses bound;
And as she o'er the greensward tripped,
A train of damsels ruby-lipped,
Blooming like flowers of Samarkand,
Obedient bowed to her command.
She glittered like a moon among
The beauties of the starry throng,
With lovely forms as Houris bright,
Or Peris glancing in the light;
And now they reach an emerald spot,
Beside a cool sequestered grot,
And soft recline beneath the shade,
By a delicious rose-bower made:
There, in soft converse, sport, and play,
The hours unnoted glide away;
But Laila to the bulbul tells
What secret grief her bosom swells,
And fancies, through the rustling leaves,
She from the garden-breeze receives
The breathings of her own true love,
Fond as the cooings of the dove.
"O faithful friend, and lover true,
Still distant from thy Laila's view;
Still absent, still beyond her power
To bring thee to her fragrant bower:
O noble youth, still thou art mine,
And Laila, Laila, still is thine! "
[Majnun, frenzied and distracted, vainly seeks his Lailā, whom her father
has betrothed against her will to a man she can but hate. The unhappy girl
is long imprisoned in a closely guarded tower, until unexpectedly one night
the word is brought of the death of her enforced and loathed husband. The
situation is depicted in an Oriental manner. ]
How beautifully blue
The firmament! how bright
The moon is sailing through
The vast expanse to-night!


## p. 10670 (#550) ##########################################

10670
NIZĀMĪ
And at this lovely hour,
The lonely Lailā weeps
Within her prison tower,
And her sad record keeps.
How many days, how many years,
Her sorrows she has borne!
A lingering age of sighs and tears,-
A night that has no morn;
-
Yet in that guarded tower she lays her head,
Shut like a gem within its stony bed.
And who the warder of that place of sighs?
Her husband! he the dragon-watch supplies.
What words are those which meet her anxious ear?
Unusual sounds, unusual sights appear;
Lamps flickering round, and wailings sad and low,
Seem to proclaim some sudden burst of woe.
Beneath her casements rings a wild lament;
Death-notes disturb the night; the air is rent
With clamorous voices; every hope is fled:
He breathes no longer-Ibn Salim is dead!
The fever's rage had nipped him in his bloom;
He sank unloved, unpitied, to the tomb.
And Laila marks the moon: a cloud
Had stained its lucid face;
The mournful token of a shroud,
End of the humble and the proud,
The grave their resting-place.
And now to her the tale is told,
Her husband's hand and heart are cold.
And must she mourn the death of one
Whom she had loathed to look upon?
In customary garb arrayed,
Disheveled tresses, streaming eyes,
The heart remaining in disguise,—
She seemed, distraction in her mien,
To feel her loss, if loss had been;
But all the burning tears she shed
Were for her own Majnun, and not the dead!
[In after life the two lovers meet but for a moment of enchanting rapt-
ure, and an instant for interchanging mutual vows of devotion; when the
woe-worn Majnun and the unhappy Laila are separated forever, to be united
only in death. Legend tells us how Laila's faithful page beheld a glorious
vision of the beatified lovers joined in Paradise. ]


## p. 10671 (#551) ##########################################

NIZĀMĪ
10671
The minstrel's legend chronicle
Which on their woes delights to dwell,
Their matchless purity and faith,
And how their dust was mixed in death,
Tells how the sorrow-stricken Zeyd
Saw, in a dream, the beauteous bride,
With Majnun seated side by side.
In meditation deep one night,
The other world flushed on his sight
With endless vistas of delight—
The world of spirits; as he lay,
Angels appeared in bright array,
Circles of glory round them gleaming,
Their eyes with holy rapture beaming;
He saw the ever verdant bowers,
With golden fruit and blooming flowers;
The bulbul heard, their sweets among,
Warbling his rich mellifluous song;
The ring-dove's murmuring, and the swell
Of melody from harp and shell;
He saw within a rosy glade,
Beneath a palm's extensive shade,
A throne, amazing to behold,
Studded with glittering gems and gold;
Celestial carpets near it spread
Close where a lucid streamlet strayed:
Upon that throne, in blissful state,
The long-divided lovers sate,
Resplendent with seraphic light;
They held a cup, with diamonds bright;
Their lips by turns, with nectar wet,
In pure ambrosial kisses met;
Sometimes to each their thoughts revealing,
Each clasping each with tenderest feeling.
The dreamer who this vision saw
Demanded, with becoming awe,
What sacred names the happy pair
In Irem-bowers were wont to bear.
A voice replied: "That sparkling moon
Is Laila still-her friend, Majnun;
Deprived in your frail world of bliss,
They reap their great reward in this! "
Translation of James Atkinson.


## p. 10672 (#552) ##########################################

10672
CHARLES NODIER
(1780-1844)
SURING the French Revolution, the Society of the Friends of
the Constitution, an offshoot of the Paris Jacobins, sprang up
at Besançon. M. Nodier, ex-mayor, and during the Terror
a sad but inexorable public accuser, was one of its leaders. His son
Charles, who was born at Besançon, April 28th, 1780, used to accom-
pany his father to the meetings of the society, of which he became
a member; and when he was twelve years old made his seniors an
eloquent address full of republican principles. These he always
retained, whether grumbling wittily at king,
consul, or emperor, as was his way. His
studies of political events in the Souve-
nirs are more entertaining than reliable.
He was not an active politician; but his
youthful expression of opinion, by embroil-
ing him with the authorities, influenced his
whole career.

CHARLES NODIER
About 1802 a satiric ode, 'Napoléone,'
prompted by the proscription of the consul-
ate, attracted attention. To rescue others
from suspicion, Nodier boldly admitted its
authorship. What followed is difficult to
determine, as he and his friends bewail
his sufferings, and others pronounce them
several years in exile, wandering through
During this time he made the friendship
a fabrication. He spent
the Vosges mountains.
of Benjamin Constant, and also saw much of Madame de Staël,
who may have inspired his love of German literature. German mys-
ticism appealed strongly to his fanciful spirit, as did the rich folk-
lore of Germany. Imaginative, a lover of nature, his early works-
'Les Meditations du Cloïtre,' 'Le Peintre de Salzburg,' 'Le Solitaire
des Vosges,' 'Stella, ou les Proscrits'-express a quite Byronic self-
indulgence in woe, with a tinge of Rousseau-like sentimentality.
His 'Dictionnaire des Onomatopées Françaises' (1808) was an in-
genious effort to establish the origin of languages from imitation of
natural sounds. This many-sided Charles Nodier was perhaps prima-
rily a scientist. He looked at life with microscopic eyes, and loved
minute investigation. As a boy in his native town, his much older


## p. 10673 (#553) ##########################################

CHARLES NODIER
10673
friend Chantras had aroused his interest in natural history; and
his first work was a 'Dissertation upon the Functions of Antennæ
in Insects. He is said to have discovered the organ of hearing in
insects. Now, just the fascination he found in a butterfly's wing or
a beetle's nippers, he found too in the study of language. To find
and fit the exact word gave him exquisite pleasure. Of all things he
detested easy banality; and whatever he wrote had a piquant novelty
of phrase which never seemed forced. This sweet-natured lover of
fairies was familiar with the classics and foreign literature, erudite in
the structure and usage of his mother tongue. In the mastery of
words, which makes his style as "flexible as water," he is a classicist.
"Boileau would have admired him," says a critic; and in his respect
for form he belongs to the old régime. But he was modern too.
His sympathies were not only for world-wide, world-old experience.
His fancy wandered off into side tracks; and sought the bizarre, the
exceptional, the mysterious. He admitted the personal element in
art; wanted to express himself, Charles Nodier; and thus is a fore-
runner of romanticism. It is a pity that his successors forgot his
lesson of moderation in inartistic excesses; for literary instinct kept
his own venturesome spontaneity always within the domain of good
taste.
The slender white-browed man with his piercing eyes, his childlike
enthusiasms, worked his way gradually to fame. In 1823 he was
appointed librarian at the library of the Arsénal in Paris; where for
more than twenty years, until his death in 1844, his salon was "a lit-
tle Tuileries for young writers and the new school. " Here Victor
Hugo, Lamartine, Dumas fils, De Musset, De Vigny, Sainte-Beuve, and
many another young man with fame before him, listened respectfully
to the Academician, the critic and teller of tales. Sainte-Beuve de-
scribes his lovable presence, his fascinating converse in which witty
irony was so veiled with tact as never to wound. One day a young
friend brought him a manuscript in which he had consciously tried
to imitate the master's style. "My dear boy," said Nodier, "what
you have brought me cannot be very good, for at first I thought it
must be mine. "
Nodier was a poet.
He loved what he calls "the Muse of the
Ideal, the elegant sumptuous daughter of Asia, who long ago took
refuge under the fogs of Great Britain. " His small volume of lyric
verse, published in 1827, has a melody and suggestive freakish grace
which make one wish it larger.
His stories are his best-known work, and in fiction his gifts are
many. There is a lofty sentiment in his more introspective sketches
which suggests Lamartine. In some moods he delights in elfland
dream goblins, kindly fays-as in Trilby, le Lutin d'Argaile,' 'La
XVIII-668


## p. 10674 (#554) ##########################################

10674
CHARLES NODIER
Fée aux Miettes,' 'Trésor des Fèves et Fleur des Pois,' 'Les Quatre
Talismans. Sometimes he is akin to Hoffmann in his expression of
psychologic mystery, in his eery enchantment. Of this, 'Smana, or
the Demons of Night' is a good example. He is a mocker too; and
in stories like 'Les Marionettes,' 'The King of Bohemia and his
Seven Castles,' he satirizes with sparkling irony both himself and the
world.
THE GOLDEN DREAM
THE KARDOUON
A$
S ALL the world knows, the Kardouon is the prettiest, the
cleverest, and the most courteous of lizards. The Kardouon
dresses in gold like a great lord, but he is shy and modest;
and from his solitary secluded life people think him a scholar.
The Kardouon has never done ill to any one, and every one loves
the Kardouon. The young girls are proud when, as they pass,
he gazes upon them with love and joy, erecting his neck of iri-
descent blue and ruby between the fissures of an old wall, or
sparkling in the sunshine with countless reflections from the mar-
velous tissue in which he is clad.
They say to each other: "It was I, not you, whom he looked
at to-day. He thought me the prettiest, and I'll be his love. "
The Kardouon thinks nothing of the kind. He is looking about
for good roots to feast his comrades, and to enjoy with them at
his leisure on a sparkling stone in the full noontide heat.
One day the Kardouon found in the desert a treasure com-
posed of bright new coins, so pretty and polished that they
seemed to have just bounded out with a groan from under the
measure. A fugitive king had left them there so that he could
go faster.
"Goodness of God! " said the Kardouon. "Here, if I'm not
much mistaken, is a precious provision just right for the winter.
It's nothing less than slices of that fresh sugary carrot which
always revives my spirits when solitude wearies me, and the
most appetizing I ever have seen. "
And the Kardouon glided toward the treasure -not directly,
for that is not his way, but winding about prudently; now with
head raised, nose in the air, his whole body in a straight line,
his tail vertical like a stake; then pausing undecided, inclining
first one eye then the other toward the ground, to listen with


## p. 10675 (#555) ##########################################

CHARLES NODIER
10675
each of his fine Kardouon's ears; then lifting his gaze, examining
right and left, listening to everything, seeing everything, grad-
ually reassuring himself; darting forward like a brave Kardouon;
then drawing back, palpitating with terror, like a poor Kardouon
far from his hole, who feels himself pursued; and then happy
and proud, arching his back, rounding his shoulders, rolling the
folds of his rich caparison, lifting the gilded scales of his coat of
mail, growing green, undulating, flying forward, flinging to the
winds the dust under his feet, and lashing it with his tail. Un-
questionably he was the handsomest of Kardouons.
When he had reached the treasure, he pierced it with his
glance, grew rigid as a piece of wood, drew himself up on his
two front feet and fell upon the first piece of gold which met
his teeth.
He broke one of them.
The Kardouon dashed ten feet backward, returned more
thoughtfully, and bit more modestly.
"They're abominably dry," he said. "Oh! when Kardouons
collect such a store of sliced carrots for their posterity, they
make a great mistake not to put them in a damp spot where
they would retain their nourishing quality! It must be admitted,"
he added to himself, "that the Kardouon species is not very
advanced. As for me, thank heaven, I dined the other day, and
don't need whatever wretched meal I can find, like a common
Kardouon. I'll carry this provender under the great tree of the
desert, among the grasses moist with the dew of heaven and
the freshness of springs. I will sleep beside it on the soft fine
sand, which the earliest dawn will warm; and when a clumsy
bee, dizzy from the blossom where she has spent the night, buzz-
ing about like a mad thing, awakens me with her humming, I
will begin the most regal repast ever made by a Kardouon. "
The Kardouon I am describing was a Kardouon of execution.
What he said he did, which is much. By evening the whole
treasure, transported piece by piece, was getting uselessly re-
freshed on a fine carpet of long silky moss, which bent beneath
its weight. Overhead an enormous tree stretched boughs luxuri-
ant with leaves and flowers, and seemed to invite passers-by to
enjoy a pleasant slumber in its shade.
And the tired Kardouon went peacefully to sleep, dreaming
of fresh roots.
This is the Kardouon's story.


## p. 10676 (#556) ##########################################

10676
CHARLES NODIER
XAILOUN
THE next day Xailoun, the poor wood-cutter, came to this same
spot, enticed by the melodious gurgle of running water, and by
the fresh and laughing rustle of the leaves. He was still far
from the forest, and as usual in no hurry to reach it, and this
restful place flattered his natural indolence.
As few knew Xailoun during his lifetime, I will say that he
was one of the disgraced children of nature, who seem born
merely to exist. As he was dull in mind and deformed in
body-although a good simple creature incapable of doing, of
thinking, or even of understanding, evil-his family had always
looked upon him as a subject of sadness and vexation. Constant
humiliations had early inspired Xailoun with a taste for solitude;
and this, and the fact that other professions were forbidden by
his weakness of mind, were the reasons why he had been made
a wood-cutter. In the town he was known only as silly Xailoun.
Indeed, the children followed him through the streets with mis-
chievous laughter, calling: "Room, room, for honest Xailoun.
Xailoun, the best-natured wood-cutter who ever held hatchet!
Behold him on his way to the glades of the wood to talk sci-
ence with his cousin the Kardouon. Ah! noble Xailoun! "
And his brothers, blushing in proud shame, retreated as he
passed.
But Xailoun did not seem to notice them, and he laughed
with the children.
Now it is not natural for any man to judge ill of his own
intelligence; and Xailoun used to think that the chief cause of
this daily disdain and derision was the poverty of his clothes.
He had decided that the Kardouon, who in the sunlight is the
most beautiful of all the dwellers of earth, was the most favored
of all God's creatures; and he secretly promised himself, if he
should ever attain his intimate friendship, to deck himself in some
cast-off bit of the Kardouon's costume, and stroll proudly about
the country to fascinate the eyes of the good folk.
"Moreover," he added, when he had reflected as much as his
Xailoun's judgment permitted, "the Kardouon is my cousin, they
say; and I feel it is true, from the sympathy which attracts me
toward this honorable personage. Since my brothers disdain me,
the Kardouon is my nearest of kin; and I want to live with him
if he welcomes me, even if I am good for nothing more than to


## p. 10677 (#557) ##########################################

CHARLES NODIER
10677
spread a bed of dried leaves for him every night, and to tuck
him in while he sleeps, and to warm his room with a bright
and cheerful fire when the weather is bad. The Kardouon may
grow old before I do; for he was nimble and beautiful when I
was still very young, and when my mother used to point and
say, 'See, there is the Kardouon. ' I know, thank God, how to
render little services to an invalid, and how to divert him with
pleasant trifles. It's too bad he's so haughty! "
In truth, the Kardouon did not usually respond cordially to
Xailoun's advances, but vanished in the sand like a flash at his
approach; and did not pause until safe behind a stone or hillock,
to turn on him sidewise two sparkling eyes, which might have
made carbuncles envious.
Then clasping his hands, Xailoun would say respectfully,
"Alas, cousin! why do you run away from your friend and com-
rade? I ask only to follow and to serve you instead of my
brothers, for whom I would willingly die, but who are less kind
and charming than you. If you chance to need a good servant,
do not repel, as they do, your faithful Xailoun. »
But the Kardouon always went away; and Xailoun returned
to his mother, weeping because his cousin the Kardouon would
not speak to him.
This day his mother had driven him off, pushing him by the
shoulders and striking him in her anger.
"Clear out, good-for-nothing! " she said to him. "Go back
to your cousin the Kardouon, for you don't deserve any other
kin. "
As usual, Xailoun had obeyed; and he was looking for his
cousin the Kardouon.
"Oh! oh! " he said, as he reached the tree with the great
green boughs, "here's something new. My cousin the Kardouon
has gone to sleep in the shade here, where the streams meet.
When he wakes, will be a good chance to talk business. But
what the deuce is he guarding, and what does he mean to do
with all those funny bits of yellow lead? Brighten up his clothes,
perhaps. He may be thinking of marriage. Faith, the Kardouon
shops have their cheats too; for that metal looks coarse, and one
bit of my cousin's old coat is a thousand times better. However,
I'll see what he says if he's more talkative than usual: for I can
rest here; and as I'm a light sleeper, I am sure to wake as soon
as he does. "


## p. 10678 (#558) ##########################################

10678
CHARLES NODIER
Just as Xailoun was lying down, he had an idea.
"It's a cool night," he said, "and my cousin the Kardouon is
not used like me to sleeping along springs and in forests.
morning air is not healthy. "
The
Xailoun took off his coat and spread it lightly over the Kar-
douon, careful not to wake him. The Kardouon did not wake.
Then Xailoun slept profoundly, dreaming of friendship with
the Kardouon.
This is Xailoun's story.
THE FAKIR ABHOC
THE next day there came to this same spot the fakir Abhoc,
who had feigned to start on a pilgrimage, but who was really
hunting some windfall.
As he approached to rest at the spring he caught sight of
the treasure, embraced it in a glance, and quickly reckoned its
value on his fingers.
"Unlooked-for luck! " he cried, "which the merciful omnipo-
tent Lord at last vouchsafes my society, after so many years
of trial; and which, to render its conquest the easier, he has
deigned to place under the simple guard of an innocent lizard
and of a poor imbecile boy! "
I must tell you that the fakir Abhoc knew both Xailoun and
the Kardouon perfectly by sight.
"Heaven be praised in all things," he added, sitting down
a few steps away. "Good-by to the fakir's robe, to the long
fasts, to the hard mortifying of the flesh. I mean to change my
country and manner of life; and in the first kingdom that takes
my fancy, I'll buy some good province, which will yield a fat
revenue. Once established in my palace, I will give myself
up to enjoyment, among flowers and perfumes, in the midst of
pretty slaves, who will rock my spirits gently with their melo-
dious music, while I toss off exquisite wines from the largest of
my golden cups. I am growing old, and good wine gladdens
the heart of age. But this treasure is heavy, and it would ill
become a great territorial lord like myself, with a multitude of
servants and countless militia, to turn porter, even if no one
saw me. A prince must respect himself if he would win the
respect of his people. Besides, this peasant seems to have been
sent here expressly to serve me. He is strong as an ox, and


## p. 10679 (#559) ##########################################

CHARLES NODIER
10679
can easily carry my gold to the next village; and once there, I
will give him my monkish suit and some common money, such
as poor people use. "
After this fine soliloquy, the fakir Abhoc, sure that his treas-
ure was in no danger from either the Kardouon or poor Xailoun,
who knew its value as little, yielded willingly to sleep, dreaming
proudly of his harem, peopled with the rarest beauties of the
Orient, and of his Schiraz wine, foaming in golden cups.
This is the fakir Abhoc's story.
DOCTOR ABHAC
THE next day there came to the same place, Dr. Abhac, a
man versed in all law, who had lost his way while meditating an
ambiguous text of which the jurists had already given one hun-
dred and thirty-two different interpretations. He was about to
seize the one hundred and thirty-third when the sight of the treas-
ure made him forget it entirely, and transported his thought to
the ticklish subject of invention, property, and treasure.
It was
blotted from his memory so completely that he would not have
found it again in a hundred years. It is a great loss.
"It appears," said Dr. Abhac, "as though the Kardouon had
discovered the treasure, and I'll guaranty that he will not plead
his right of priority to claim his legal portion of the division.
Therefore the said Kardouon is excluded from the consideration.
As for the treasure and its ownership, I maintain that this is a
waste spot, common property of all and any, over which neither
State nor individual has rights. A fortunate feature of the
actual facts is this junction of running waters, marking, if I am
not mistaken, the disputed boundary between two warlike peo-
ples; and long and bloody wars being likely to arise from the
possible conflict of two jurisdictions. Therefore I would accom-
plish an innocent, legitimate, even provident act, if I were to
carry the treasure elsewhere, or take what I can. As for these
two adventurers, of whom one seems a poor woodcutter and the
other a wretched fakir, folks of neither name nor weight, they
have probably come here to sleep in order to make an amiable
division to-morrow; since they are unacquainted with both text
and commentary, and probably esteem themselves equal in force.
But they cannot extricate themselves without a lawsuit, upon that
I'll stake my reputation. But as I am growing sleepy from the


## p. 10680 (#560) ##########################################

10680
CHARLES NODIER
great perturbation of mind resulting from this business, I will
take formal possession by putting some of these pieces in my tur-
ban in order to prove publicly and decisively in court, if the case
is there evoked, the priority of my claims; since he who pos-
sesses the thing by desire of ownership, tradition of ownership,
and first possession, is presumably owner, according to the law. "
And Dr. Abhac fortified his turban with so many pieces of
proof that he spent a good part of the day, poor man, dragging
it to the spot where the shadow of the protecting boughs was
dying in the low rays of sun. Again and again he returned to
add new witnesses, until he finally decided to fill his turban and
risk sleeping bareheaded in the evening dew.
"I need not be anxious about waking," he said, leaning his
freshly shaven crown on the stuffed turban, which served as a
pillow. "These people will begin to dispute by dawn, and will
be glad enough to find a lawyer at hand, so I will be assured of
my part and parcel. "
After which Dr. Abhac slumbered magisterially, dreaming of
gold and of legal procedures.
This is the story of Dr. Abhac.
THE KING OF THE SANDS
THE next day toward sunset there came to the same spot a
famous bandit, whose name history has not preserved; but who
was the terror of the caravans throughout the country, and who,
from the heavy tributes he exacted, was called the King of the
Sands. He had never before come so far into the desert, for this.
route was little frequented by travelers; and the sight of the
spring and the shady boughs so rejoiced his heart, not often
awake to the beauties of nature, that he decided to stop for a
moment.
"Not a bad idea of mine," he murmured between his teeth
when he saw the treasure. "The Kardouon, following the imme-
morial custom of lizards and dragons, is guarding this heap of
gold with which he has no concern, and these three poor parasites
have come here together to divide it. If I try to take charge
of this booty while they are asleep I shall surely awaken the
Kardouon, who is always on the alert, and he will arouse these
scamps, and I'll have to deal with the lizard, the woodcutter, the
fakir, and the lawyer, who all want the prize, and are able to


## p. 10681 (#561) ##########################################

CHARLES NODIER
10681
fight for it. Prudence admonishes me to feign sleep beside them
until the shadows have fallen; and later, I'll profit by the dark-
ness to kill them one after another with a good blow of my
dagger. This is such a lonely spot that to-morrow I can easily
carry off all this wealth; and I'll not hurry away until I have
breakfasted off this Kardouon, whose flesh, my father used to say,
is very delicate. "
And he went to sleep in his turn, dreaming of pillage, assas-
sinations, and broiled Kardouons.
This is the story of the King of the Sands, who was a robber,
and so named to distinguish him from the others.
THE SAGE LOCKMAN
THE next day there came to the same spot Lockman the
Sage, poet and philosopher; Lockman, lover of men, preceptor of
peoples, and counselor of kings; Lockman, who often sought
remotest solitudes to meditate upon God and nature.
And Lockman walked slowly, enfeebled by age; for that day
he had reached the three-hundredth anniversary of his birth.
Lockman paused at the spectacle under the tree of the desert,
and reflected a moment.
"The picture offered my eyes by Divine bounty," at last he
exclaimed, “contains ineffable instruction, O sublime Creator of
all things; and as I contemplate, my soul is overwhelmed with
admiration for the lessons resulting from your works, and with
compassion for the senseless beings who ignore you.
"Here is a treasure, as men say, which may often have
given its owner repose of mind and soul.
"Here is the Kardouon, who has found these gold pieces, and
guided only by the feeble instinct you have given him, has mis-
taken them for slices of sun-dried roots.
"Here is poor Xailoun, whose eyes were dazzled by the Kar-
douon's splendor, because his mind could not reach you through
the shadows which envelop him like an infant's swaddling-clothes,
and fails to adore in this glorious apparel the omnipotent hand
which thus clad the humblest of creatures.
"Here is the fakir Abhoc, who has trusted in the natural
timidity of the Kardouon and the imbecility of Xailoun, in order
to possess himself of all this wealth, and to render his old age
opulent.


## p. 10682 (#562) ##########################################

10682
CHARLES NODIER
"Here is Dr. Abhac, who has reckoned on the debate sure to
arise upon the division of these deceitful vanities, that he may
institute himself mediator and decree himself a double share.
"Here is the King of the Sands, the last comer, revolving
fatal ideas and projects of death, in the usual manner of those
deplorable men abandoned to earthly passion. Perhaps he prom-
ised himself to murder the others during the night, as seems
likely from the violence with which his hand grasps his dagger.
"And all five are sleeping forever under the deadly shade of
the Upas, whose fatal seeds have been hurled here by some angry
gust from the depths of Javan forests. "
When he had spoken thus, Lockman bowed down, and wor-
shiped God.
And when he had risen, he passed his hand through his beard
and went on:
"The respect due the dead forbids us to leave their bodies a
prey to wild beasts. The living judge the living, but the dead
belong to God. "
—
And he loosened the pruning-knife from Xailoun's belt, with
which to dig three graves.
In the first grave he placed the fakir Abhoc.
In the second grave he placed Doctor Abhac.
In the third grave he buried the King of the Sands.
"As for thee, Xailoun," he soliloquized, "I will bear thee
beyond the deadly influence of the tree poison, so that thy friends,
if there be any on earth since the Kardouon's death, can weep
without danger at the spot of thy repose. And I will do this
also, my brother, because thou didst spread thy mantle over the
sleeping Kardouon to preserve him from cold. "
Then Lockman carried Xailoun far away, and dug him a
grave in a little ravine full of blossoms, bathed by springs of
the desert, under trees whose fronds floating in the wind spread
about them only freshness and fragrance.
And when this was done, Lockman passed his hand through
his beard a second time, and after reflection, went to fetch the
Kardouon which lay dead under the poison-tree of Java.
Then Lockman dug a fifth grave for the Kardouon, beyond
Xailoun's on a slope better exposed to the sun, whose dawning
rays arouse the gayety of lizards.
"God guard me from separating in death those who have
loved in life," said Lockman.


## p. 10683 (#563) ##########################################

CHARLES NODIER
1
10683
And when he had thus spoken, Lockman passed his hand
through his beard a third time, and after reflecting went back to
the foot of the Upas tree.
There he dug a very deep grave, and buried the treasure.
"This precaution may save the life of a man or a Kardouon,”
he said with an inward smile.
Then Lockman, greatly fatigued, went on his way to rest be-
side Xailoun's grave.
And he was quite exhausted when he reached it, and falling
on the earth commended his soul to God, and died.
This is the story of Lockman the Sage.
THE ANGEL
THE next day there came one of the spirits of God which you
have seen only in dreams.
He floated, rose, sometimes seemed lost in the eternal azure,
then descended again, balanced himself at heights which thought
cannot measure, on large blue wings like a giant butterfly.
As he approached, he waved his golden curls and let himself
rock on the currents of air, throwing out his ivory arms and
abandoning his head to all the little clouds of heaven.
Then he alighted on the slender boughs without bending a
leaf or a blossom, and then he flew with caressing wings around
the new-made grave of Xailoun.
"What! " he cried, "is Xailoun dead? Xailoun, whom heaven
awaits for his innocence and simplicity? "
And from his large blue wings he dropped a little feather,
which suddenly took root and grew into the most beautiful
plume ever seen over a royal coffin. This he did to mark the
spot.
Then he saw the poet asleep in death as in a joyful dream,
his features laughing with peace and happiness.
"My Lockman too," said the Angel, "desired to grow young
again to resemble us, although he had passed only a few seasons
among men,-who, alas! have not had time to profit by his
lessons. Yes, come, my brother, come with me; awake from
death to follow me. Come to eternal day, come to God. "
At the same time he placed a kiss of resurrection on Lock-
man's brow, raised him lightly from his bed of moss, and hurried


## p. 10684 (#564) ##########################################

10684
CHARLES NODIER
him into a heaven so deep that the eyes of eagles could not
follow them.
This is the Angel's story.
THE END OF THE GOLDEN DREAM
WHAT I have just told happened infinite ages ago, and the
name of the sage Lockman has lingered ever since in the mem-
ory of men.
And ever since, the Upas tree has stretched out the branches
whose shadow means death between the waters which flow eter-
nally.
This is the story of the World.


## p. 10685 (#565) ##########################################

10685
WILLIAM EDWARD NORRIS
(1847-)
ILLIAM E. NORRIS's first novel, Heaps of Money' (London,
1877), was published in the Cornhill Magazine as a serial,
when he was not quite twenty-one years of age.
He was
born in London in 1847, was educated at Eton, went on the Continent
to study foreign languages as a preparation for diplomatic science,
changed his plans, and in 1874 came to the bar, but never practiced,
having already tasted the success of his first book. Since that time
Mr. Norris has devoted himself to the pro-
fession of literature. His home is at Tor-
quay, alternating during the winter between
Algiers and the Riviera.

Mr. Norris seems to have come into the
world like Minerva, full armed. Heaps of
Money' has the maturity of view, the sim-
plicity of diction, the quiet humor, and the
minuteness of observation of a veteran in
novel-writing. Its author showed that he
had not only the power to reflect on life in
its hypocrisies and petty social strivings,
but he had the half-cynical air of a man of
the world defending in tolerant fashion its
sins and its shams. Instead of posing as
preacher or reformer, the author took the more adroit way of seem-
ing to sneer at himself and his craft, and in ironical self-assertion
cleverly disarmed criticism.
He had seen perhaps that the time had gone by for sweeping in-
dictments, and that not the Juvenalian scourge but the Horatian flick
drove men to righteousness. Another characteristic of this first book
was the air of calm leisure that pervaded its quiet sentences; but the
reader, suspecting platitudes, soon found that the irony infused gave
them a delicious flavor. Lord Keswick, pressed by his father to
marry and extricate himself from his debts, urges plaintively that he
is not a domestic man. "Am I a domestic man ? " retorts his father.
And to tell the truth, he certainly was not. The hypocrisy of Mr.
Howard, the heroine's father, is amiably excused. "Some people,
knowingly or unknowingly, are perpetually playing parts, from their
WILLIAM E. NORRIS


## p. 10686 (#566) ##########################################

10686
WILLIAM EDWARD NORRIS
cradle to their death-bed. Very likely they can't help themselves,
and ought only to be pitied for having an exaggerated idea of the
fitness of things. "
'Heaps of Money' was followed in 1880 by Mademoiselle de
Mersac,' a story played in Algiers, in which the author created two
of the most finished portraits in modern fiction: St. Luc, the blasé
cynical man of the world, who falls in love with the fresh young
girl Jeanne de Mersac, and serves her with a devotion half paternal,
half passionate, and wholly incomprehensible to her; and Jeanne her-
self, the incarnation of high-minded obstinacy and fierce maidenhood.
The plot of 'Mademoiselle de Mersac' is not new; but "the exquisite
touch which renders ordinary characters and commonplace things
interesting," to quote Scott of Miss Austin, of whom Norris may well
claim literary descent, is not denied him.
'Matrimony,' which was published the next year, abounds in deli-
cate characterizations and in «< character parts," as they are called on
the stage: the sage bore Mr. Flemyng, Admiral Bagshawe, and Gen-
eral Blair. Nothing is easier than to moralize in a certain fashion,
and truisms about life commend themselves to the ordinary mind.
Mr. Flemyng bristles with undisputed facts, retailed in conversations
in which the reader is sufficiently disinterested to be an amused
listener. Mr. Gervis in the same novel, if not as striking is as finely
drawn a portrait as St. Luc,- a cultured cynic who poses as doing
his kind deeds to spare himself the trouble of refusing.
In the long list of novels that succeed 'Matrimony,' Norris pre-
sents characters that are seldom planned on a higher scale than our-
selves; and yet at his will they stimulate our imagination and our
affection. As has been said of Thackeray's heroes, they have an
ideal of human conduct, and an aspiration, which though far from
conventional is yet noble and elevating. Women owe him a debt
for his championship of maidenhood. His young girl is as wild and
as free, to borrow Mr. Andrew Lang's simile, as Horace's "latis equa
trima campis. " He does not take for granted that a fresh young
creature, loving her parents and her brothers and sisters with all her
heart, will at her first dance fall headlong in love with the first man
who admires her. He endows her, on the contrary, with a girlish
perversity, a high-spirited resistance to the intruding element, as her
lover appears to her; and the plot often turns on the obstacles she
persists in erecting between herself and the man she loves.
We travel with Mr. Norris on level roads: his gentlemen are gen-
tlemen, even when they are villains; his heroes thoroughly good fel-
lows, with a talent for epigram; his heroines sweet English roses, set
about with little prickly thorns-till unexpectedly we come upon a
scene instinct with tragedy and pathos. The latter he uses sparingly
―――


## p. 10687 (#567) ##########################################

WILLIAM EDWARD NORRIS
10687
and with judgment.
There is no attempt to touch the feelings when
Margaret Stanniforth, most charming of women though neither young
nor beautiful, dies; and the short death scene in 'Mademoiselle de
Mersac is pathetic by the contrast between death and the abundant
strength and youth of Jeanne. One is as much affected, perhaps,
when M. de Fontvieille consigns Jeanne to Mr. Ashley, whose comic
agony lest the Frenchman embrace him heightens the sadness of
the simple old man's leave-taking; and again in a less known novel,
'My Friend Jim,' when the old worldling the Marquis of Staines
revisits the Eton playing-fields, and spends the summer day in recol-
lections of his boyhood.
In these scenes the effect is so spontaneous, so easily brought
about, that a lesser artist would use his gift oftener. But Mr. Norris
exercises a wise restraint on this dangerous ground. And if he is
conservative in his emotions, of all his generation he is the most
conservative in his traditions. His novels, as far as they portray the
ideas of the end of the nineteenth century, might have been written
a hundred years ago. The New Woman does not appear between
the covers of his books; social and economic problems are ignored.
Money and the want of it, caste and striving for it, occupy his char-
acters. His sympathies are apparently entirely with Mrs. Rawdon
Crawley when she exclaimed pathetically, "How good I could be on
£5,000 a year! "
But the lover of Norris is not inclined to find fault with the com-
pany he keeps.