No More Learning

"


## p. 6710 (#86) ############################################

6710
GERALD GRIFFIN
Lowry raised himself erect again, turned slowly round, and
walked to the door, with his eyes on the ground and his hand
raised to his temple, as if endeavoring to recollect something
further which he had intended to say.
"Lowry! " said Mr. Daly, as the handle of the door was
turned a second time. Lowry looked round.
"Lowry, tell me, did you see Eily O'Connor, the ropemaker's
daughter, at the fair of Garryowen yesterday? "
"Ah, you're welcome to your game, masther. "
«Pon my word, then, Eily is a very pretty girl, Lowry; and
I'm told the old father can give her something besides her pretty
face. "
Lowry opened his huge mouth (we forgot to mention that it
was a huge one), and gave vent to a few explosions of laughter
which much more nearly resembled the braying of an ass.
« You
are welcome to your game, masther," he repeated; "long life to
your Honor. »
"But is it true, Lowry, as I have heard it insinuated, that
old Mihil O'Connor used, and still does, twist ropes for the use
of the county jail? "
Lowry closed his lips hard, while the blood rushed into his
face at this unworthy allegation. Treating it however as a new
piece of "the masther's game," he laughed and tossed his head.
"Folly on, sir, folly on. "
"Because if that were the case, Lowry, I should expect to
find you a fellow of too much spirit to become connected, even
by affinity, with such a calling. A ropemaker! a manufacturer
of rogues' last neckcloths—an understrapper to the gallows — a
species of collateral hangman! "
-
"Ah then, missiz, do you hear this? and all rising out of a
little ould fable of a story that happened as good as five years
ago, because Moriarty the crooked hangman (the thief! ) stepped
into Mihil's little place of a night, and nobody knowin' of him,
an' bought a couple o' pen'orth o' whipcord for some vagary or
other of his own. And there's all the call Mihil O'Connor had
ever to gallowses or hangmen in his life. That's the whole toto
o' their insiniwaytions. "
"Never mind your master, Lowry," said Mrs. Daly: "he is
only amusing himself with you. "
"Oh, ha! I'm sure I know it, ma'am: long life to him, and
'tis he that's welcome to his joke. '
>>


## p. 6711 (#87) ############################################

GERALD GRIFFIN
6711
"But, Lowry—»
"Ah, Heaven bless you now, masther, an' let me alone.
say nothing to you. "
I'll
"Nay, nay, I only wanted to ask you what sort of a fair it
was at Garryowen yesterday. "
"Middling, sir, like the small piatees, they tell me," said
Lowry, suddenly changing his manner to an appearance of serious
occupation; "but 'tis hard to make out what sort a fair is, when
one has nothing to sell himself. I met a huxter, an' she told me
'twas a bad fair, because she could not sell her piggins; an' I
met a pig-jobber, an' he told me 'twas a dear fair, pork ran so
high; an' I met another little meagre creatur, a neighbor that has
a cabin on the road above, an' he said 'twas the best fair that
ever come out o' the sky, because he got a power for his pig.
But Mr. Hardress Cregan was there, an' if he didn't make it a
dear fair to some of 'em, you may call me an honest man. "
"A very notable undertaking that would be, Lowry. But how
was it? »
"Some o' them boys,-them Garryowen lads, sir,- to get about
Danny Mann, the Lord, Mr. Hardress's boatman, as he was comin'
down from Mihil's with a new rope for some part o' the boat,
and to begin reflecting on him in regard o' the hump on his back,
poor creatur! Well, if they did, Masther Hardress heerd 'em; and
he having a stout blackthorn in his hand, this way, and he made
up to the foremost of 'em. 'What's that you're saying, you
scoundrel? ' says he. 'What would you give to know? ' says the
other, mighty impudent. Masther Hardress made no more, only
up with the stick, and without saying this or that, or by your
leave, or how do you do, he stretched him. Well, such a scuffle
as began among 'em was never seen. They all fell upon Masther
Hardress, but faix, they had only the half of it, for he made his
way through the thick of 'em without as much as a mark. Aw,
indeed, it isn't a goose or a duck they had to do with when they
came across Mr. Cregan, for all. "
"And where were you all this while, Lowry? "
"Above in Mihil's door, standin' and lookin' about the fair
for myself. "
"And Eily? "
"Ah, hear to this again, now! I'll run away out o' the place
entirely from you, masther, that's what I'll do;" and suiting the
action to the phrase, exit Lowry Looby.


## p. 6712 (#88) ############################################

6712
GERALD GRIFFIN
OLD TIMES! OLD TIMES!
LD times! old times! the gay old times!
When I was young and free,
And heard the merry Easter chimes
Under the sally-tree;
O'
My Sunday palm beside me placed,
My cross upon my hand,
A heart at rest within my breast,
And sunshine on the land!
Old times! Old times!
It is not that my fortunes flee,
Nor that my cheek is pale-
I mourn whene'er I think of thee,
My darling native vale!
A wiser head I have, I know,
Than when I loitered there;
But in my wisdom there is woe,
And in my knowledge, care.
Old times! Old times!
I've lived to know my share of joy,
To feel my share of pain,
To learn that friendship's self can cloy,
To love, and love in vain,
To feel a pang and wear a smile,
To tire of other climes,
To like my own unhappy isle,
And sing the gay old times!
Old times! Old times!
And sure, the land is nothing changed,
The birds are singing still;
The flowers are springing where we ranged;
There's sunshine on the hill!
The sally, waving o'er my head,
Still sweetly shades my frame
But ah, those happy days are fled,
And I am not the same!
Old times! Old times!
Oh, come again, ye merry times,
Sweet, sunny, fresh, and calm!


## p. 6713 (#89) ############################################

GERALD GRIFFIN
6713
And let me hear those Easter chimes,
And wear my Sunday palm.
If I could cry away mine eyes,
My tears would flow in vain;
If I could waste my heart in sighs,
They'll never come again!
Old times! Old times!
A PLACE IN THY MEMORY, DEAREST
A
PLACE in thy memory, dearest,
Is all that I claim:
To pause and look back when thou hearest
The sound of my name.
Another may woo thee, nearer,
Another may win and wear;
I care not though he be dearer,
If I am remembered there.
Remember me - not as a lover
Whose hope was crossed,
Whose bosom can never recover
The light it hath lost:
As the young bride remembers the mother
She loves, though she never may see,
As a sister remembers a brother,
O dearest! remember me.
Could I be thy true lover, dearest,
Couldst thou smile on me,
I would be the fondest and nearest
That ever loved thee!
But a cloud on my pathway is glooming
That never must burst upon thine;
And Heaven, that made thee all blooming,
Ne'er made thee to wither on mine.
Remember me, then! oh remember
My calm, light love;
Though bleak as the blasts of November
My life may prove,
That life will, though lonely, be sweet,
If its brightest enjoyment should be
A smile and kind word when we meet,
And a place in thy memory.


## p. 6714 (#90) ############################################

6714
FRANZ GRILLPARZER
(1791-1872)
RILLPARZER, the most distinguished dramatist that Austria has
produced, was born in Vienna on January 15th, 1791. His
father, an esteemed advocate of the Austrian capital, seems
to have been, like Goethe's father, a man of cold austerity. His
mother, on the other hand, had a deeply emotional nature, lived in
a world of music, and ended her life a suicide. From her, as in
the case of so many poets, Grillparzer derived his poetic gifts and
his musical taste. At the age of twenty-two he entered the service
of the State, in which he remained until
at his own request he was retired on a
pension in 1856. In 1847 he was made a
member of the Royal Academy of Sciences.
In his quiet and well-ordered life there
is little that is striking to record; its most
picturesque periods were those of his ex-
tensive travels in Turkey, Italy, and Greece.
Of these travels he has left fragmentary
accounts in his volume of autobiographical
sketches.
In literature Grillparzer took his own
independent course. He was filled with the
spirit of Greek tragedy; but far from at-
tempting a strict modern adaptation of the
classic forms, he gave his plays a frankly romantic and sentimental
coloring. He made a close study of the Spanish drama, but was not
dominated by it. Shakespeare, too, whose colossal genius had first
created and then crushed the German drama, never overmastered
Grillparzer. Among his autobiographical works occurs this remark-
able passage:

FRANZ GRILLPARZER
"You ask what books I shall take with me? Many and few: Herodotus,
Plutarch, and the two Spanish dramatists. And not Shakespeare? Not Shake-
speare; although he is perhaps the greatest thing the modern world has pro-
duced-not Shakespeare! He tyrannizes over my mind, and I wish to remain
free. I thank God for him, and that it was my good fortune to read and
re-read him and make him mine; but now I strive to forget him. The
ancients strengthen me; the Spaniards inspire me to produce; . . but the


## p. 6715 (#91) ############################################

FRANZ GRILL PARZER
6715
giant Shakespeare usurps the place of nature, whose most glorious organ of
expression he was; and whoever gives himself up to him will, to every ques-
tion asked of nature, forever receive an answer from Shakespeare only. No
more Shakespeare! German literature will be ruined in that very abyss out
of which it once arose; but I will be free and independent. »
Grillparzer's public career as a dramatist began in 1817 with the
famous tragedy of Die Ahnfrau' (The Ancestress), which is typical
of the class to which it belongs, the so-called tragedies of fate. Two
years later came Sappho. ' In Byron's Journal, under date of Janu-
ary 12th, 1821, we find this entry: -
(
"Read the Italian translation by Guido Sorelli of the German Grillparzer -
a devil of a name, to be sure, for posterity, but they must learn to pronounce
it: the tragedy of Sappho is superb and sublime. There is no denying it.
The man has done a great thing in writing that play. And who is he? I
know him not; but ages will. 'Tis a high intellect; Grillparzer is grand,
antique,-not so simple as the ancients, but very simple for a modern,- too
Madame De Staël-ish now and then, but altogether a great and goodly writer. "
This critical estimate is singularly just. What Grillparzer lacks
in simplicity is offset by his lyric tenderness and portrayal of com-
plex emotions. In 1831 was performed 'Des Meeres und der Liebe
Wellen (The Waves of the Sea and of Love). Grillparzer was con-
scious that the title was affected. The theme is the tale of Hero
and Leander. "It was my purpose," he wrote, "to indicate at the
outset that although of an antique coloring, my treatment of the
material was intended to be romantic. In short, it was an attempt
to combine the two dramatic styles. " This confirms Byron's judg-
ment. There was something of timidity in Grillparzer's nature; the
first acts are often grand and imposing, but the catastrophe fre-
quently passes away in an elegiac mood, like fading music. But he
has produced plays in his own peculiar manner which are full of
genuine humanity and vigorous dramatic action, and their place is
still secure in the repertory of the German stage.
Grillparzer's collected works fill sixteen volumes. His most extens-
ive undertaking was the trilogy of Das Goldene Vliess' (The Golden
Fleece), of which 'Medea' is still a favorite. The most important of
his works is 'King Ottokar,' which occupies a place in the national
life of Austria comparable to that held by Shakespeare's historical
plays in English literature; and the excellent tragedy 'Ein Treuer
Diener seines Herrn' (A Faithful Servant of his Master) is likewise
the product of Austrian national life. The direct influence of Cal-
deron is manifest in the fairy-tale character of the charming drama
'Der Traum, ein Leben' (Dream is a Life), in which the title of
the famous Spanish play is reversed.


## p. 6716 (#92) ############################################

6716
FRANZ GRILLPARZER
Grillparzer's comedy 'Weh' dem der Lügt' (Woe to Him who
Lies) was not at first a success, and for a long time thereafter the
poet refused in disgust to submit his dramas to the stage.
The play
subsequently became popular, but this disregard of all pecuniary con-
siderations in relation to his plays was characteristic of Grillparzer.
At Beethoven's request he wrote the opera text of 'Melusine,' and
the poet has told us in his recollections of Beethoven how insistent
the composer was that a contract be drawn dividing the proceeds.
But Grillparzer refused to allow this: he was satisfied to know that
Beethoven liked his poem and was willing to devote his genius to
giving it a musical setting. The great composer died before the
music had taken definite form, and it was Grillparzer's office to de-
liver the funeral oration. "I loved Beethoven," he says simply in one
of his touching paragraphs.
Grillparzer outlived his productivity, but his fame increased. At
the celebration of his eightieth birthday, honors were showered thick
upon him. He was named by the side of Goethe and Schiller, and
the highest aristocracy of that most aristocratic land joined with the
common people to do him homage. In the following year — January
21st, 1872-Grillparzer died. His place in the front rank of German
dramatists is as assured to-day as when, at the culmination of a long
life, all Germany brought tributes to the genius of the greatest of
Austrian poets.
SAPPHO AND PHAON
From Sappho
Phaon lies slumbering on the grassy bank
Sappho [entering from grotto] —
T'S
Is all in vain! Rebellious to my will,
Thought wanders and returns, void of all sense;
Whilst ever and anon, whate'er I do,
Before me stands that horrid, hated sight
I fain would flee from, e'en beyond this earth.
How he upheld her! How she clasped his arm!
Till, gently yielding to its soft embrace,
She on his lips Away! away the thought!
For in that thought are deaths innumerable.
But why torment myself, and thus complain
Of what perhaps is after all a dream?
Who knows what transient feeling, soon forgot,


## p. 6717 (#93) ############################################

FRANZ GRILLPARZER
6717
What momentary impulse, led him on,
Which quickly passed, e'en as it quickly came,
Unheeded, undeserving of reproach?
Who bade me seek the measure of his love
Within my own impassioned, aching breast?
Ye who have studied life with earnest care,
By man's affection judge not woman's heart.
A restless thing is his impetuous soul
The slave of change, and changing with each change.
Boldly man enters on the path of life, '
Illumined by the morning ray of hope;
Begirt with sword and shield, courage and faith,
Impatient to commence a glorious strife.
Too narrow seems to him domestic joy;
His wild ambition overleaps repose,
And hurries madly on through endless space;
And if upon his wayward path he meets
The humble, beauteous flower called love,
And should he stoop to raise it from the earth,
He coldly places it upon his helm.
He knoweth not what holy, ardent flame
It doth awaken in a woman's heart;
How all her being - every thought-each wish-
Revolves forever on this single point.
Like to the young bird, round its mother's nest
While fluttering, doth her anxious boding care
Watch o'er her love; her cradle and her grave,
Her whole of life- —a jewel of rich price—
She hangs upon the bosom of her faith.
Man loves, 'tis true; but his capacious heart
Finds room for other feelings than his love,
And much that woman's purity condemns
He deems amusement or an idle jest.
A kiss from other lips he takes at will.
Alas that this is so! yet so it is.
[Turns and sees Phaon sleeping.
Ha, see! Beneath the shadow of yon rose
The faithless dear one slumbers. Ay, he sleeps,
And quiet rest hath settled on his brow.
Thus only slumbers gentle innocence;
Alone thus gently breathes th' unburdened breast.


## p. 6718 (#94) ############################################

6718
FRANZ GRILLPARZER
Yes, dearest! I will trust thy peaceful sleep,
Whate'er thy waking painful may disclose.
Forgive me, then, if I have injured thee
By unjust doubt; or if I dared to think
That falsehood could approach a shrine so pure.
A smile plays o'er his mouth! His lips divide!
A name is hovering in his burning breath!
Awake, and call thy Sappho! She is near!
Her arms are clasped about thee!
[She kisses his brow. Phaon awakes, and with half-opened eyes exclaims:]
Melitta!
Phaon
Sappho [starting back] –
Phaon-Who hath disturbed me? What envious hand
Hath driven from my soul the happy dream?
[Recollecting himself.
Thou! Sappho! Welcome! Well I knew, indeed,
That something beauteous must be near my side,
To lend such glowing colors to my dream.
But why so sad? I am quite happy now.
The anxious care that lay upon my breast
Hath disappeared, and I am glad again.
Like to some wretch who hath been headlong plunged
Into some deep abyss, where all was dark,
When lifted upward by a friendly arm,
So that once more he breathes the air of heaven,
And in the golden sunlight bathes again,
He heareth happy voices sounding near:
Thus in the wild excitement of my heart
I feel it overflow with happiness,
Sappho lost in thought-
Melitta!
Ha!
And wish, half sinking 'neath the weight of joy,
For keener senses, or for less of bliss.
Be gay and happy, dear one.
All round us here is beautiful and fair.
On weary wings the summer evening sinks
In placid rest upon the quiet earth;
The sea heaves timidly her billowy breast,
The bride expectant of the Lord of Day,
Whose fiery steeds have almost reached the west;
The gentle breeze sighs through the poplar boughs,
And far and near all nature whispers love.
Is there no echo in our hearts- we love?


## p. 6719 (#95) ############################################

FRANZ GRILLPARZER
6719
Sappho [aside]—
Oh, I could trust again this faithless one.
But no! too deeply have I read his heart.
Phaon The feverish spell that pressed upon my brain
--
Sappho-
Phaon-
Hath vanished quite; and ah, believe me, dear
Sappho! I ne'er have loved thee till this hour.
Let us be happy- But tell me, loved one,
What faith hast thou in dreams?
They always lie,
And I hate liars.
For as I slept just now,
I had a heavenly dream. thought myself
Again-again-upon Olympia's height,
As when I saw thee first, the queen of song.
Amid the voices of the noisy crowd,
The clang of chariot wheels, and warrior shouts,
A strain of music stole upon mine ear.
'Twas thou! again thou sweetly sang'st of love,
And deep within my soul I felt its power.
I rushed impetuous toward thee, when behold!
It seemed at once as though I knew thee not!
And yet the Tyrian mantle clasped thy form;
The lyre still lay upon thy snow-white arm:
Thy face alone was changed. Like as a cloud
Obscures the brightness of a summer sky,
The laurel wreath had vanished from thy brow;
Upon thy lips, from which immortal sounds
Had scarcely died away, sat naught but smiles;
And in the profile of proud Pallas's face
I traced the features of a lovely child.
It was thyself and yet 'twas not-it was-
Sappho [almost shrieking]—
Melitta!
Phaon [starting] — Thou hadst well-nigh frightened me.
Who said that it was she? I knew it not!
O Sappho! I have grieved thee!
[Sappho motions him to leave.
Ah! what now?
Thou wish'st me to be gone? Let me first say -
[She again motions him to leave.
Must I indeed then go? Then fare thee well.
[Exit Phaon.


## p. 6720 (#96) ############################################

6720
FRANZ GRILLPARZER
Sappho [after a pause] –
[Pressing her hands to her breast. ] The arrow rankles here.
'Twere vain to doubt! It is, it must be so:
'Tis she that dwells within his perjured heart;
Her image ever floats before his eyes;
His very dreams enshrine that one loved form.
The bow hath sprung.
Sappho enters, richly dressed, the Tyrian mantle on her shoulders, the laurel
crown upon her head, and the golden lyre in her hand. Surrounded
by her people, she slowly and solemnly descends the steps. A long pause.
THE DEATH OF SAPPHO
From 'Sappho’
ELITTA — O Sappho! O my mistress!
-
-
M
Sappho [calmly and gravely) —
Melitta - Now is the darkness fallen from mine eyes.
Oh, let me be to thee again a slave,
Again what once I was, and oh, forgive!
Sappho in the same tone]—
Think'st thou that Sappho hath become so poor
As to have need of gifts from one like thee?
That which is mine I shall ere long possess.
Phaon Hear me but once, O Sappho!
Sappho
-
What wouldst thou?
Touch me not!
I am henceforth devoted to the gods.
Phaon
If e'er with loving eyes thou didst behold —
Sappho - Thou speak'st of things forever past and gone.
I sought for thee, and I have found-myself.
Thou couldst not understand my heart. Farewell.
On firmer ground than thee my hopes must rest.
Phaon And dost thou hate me now?
Sappho —
To love - to hate!
Is there no other feeling? Thou wert dear,
And art so still-and so shalt ever be.
Like to some pleasant fellow traveler,
Whom accident hath brought a little way
In the same bark, until the goal be reached,
When, parting, each pursues a different road;
Yet often in some strange and distant land,
Remembrance will recall that traveler still.


## p. 6721 (#97) ############################################

FRANZ GRILLPARZER
6721
Phaon [moved] -
Sappho!
Sappho-
Ye who have seen your Sappho weak, forgive:
For Sappho's weakness well will I atone.
Alone when bent, the bow's full power is shown.
Sappho [advancing]-
[Her voice falters.
[Pointing to the altar in the background.
Kindle the flames at Aphrodite's shrine,
Till up to heaven they mount like morning beams!
[They obey her.
-
Be still, and let us part in peace.
[To her people.
And now retire and leave me here alone:
I would seek counsel only from the gods.
Rhamnes [to the people]-It is her wish. Let us obey. Come all.
[They retire.
Gracious, immortal gods! list to my prayer.
Ye have adorned my life with blessings rich:
Within my hand ye placed the bow of song;
The quiver of the poet gave to me;
A heart to feel, a mind to quickly think;
A power to reveal my inmost thoughts.
Yes! ye have crowned my life with blessings rich.
For this, all thanks.
XII-421
Upon this lowly head
Ye placed a wreath, and sowed in distant lands
The poet's peaceful fame,-immortal seed;
My songs are sung in strange and foreign climes;
My name shall perish only with the earth.
For this, all thanks.
Yet it hath been your will
That I should drink not deep of life's sweet cup,
But only taste the overflowing draught.
Behold! obedient to your high behest,
I set it down untouched. For this, all thanks.
All that ye have decreed I have obeyed,
Therefore deny me not a last reward:
They who belong to Heaven no weakness show;
The coils of sickness cannot round them twine;
In their full strength, in all their being's bloom,


## p. 6722 (#98) ############################################

6722
FRANZ GRILLPARZER
Rhamnes
Ye take them to yourselves: such be my lot.
Forbid that e'er your priestess should become
The scorn of those who dare despise your power,
The sport of fools, in their own folly wise.
Ye broke the blossom; now then, break the bough.
Let my life close e'en as it once began.
From this soul struggle quickly set me free.
I am too weak to bear a further strife:
Give me the triumph, but the conflict spare.
The flames are kindled, and the sun ascends!
I feel that I am heard! I thank ye, gods!
Phaon! Melitta! hither come to me!
[As if inspired.
[She kisses the brow of Phaon.
A friend from other worlds doth greet thee thus.
[She embraces Melitta.
'Tis thy dead mother sends this kiss to thee.
Upon yon altar consecrate to love,
Be love's mysterious destiny fulfilled.
[She hurries to the altar.
What is her purpose? Glorified her form!
The radiance of the gods doth round her shine!
Sappho [ascending a high rock, and stretching her hands over Phaon and
Melitta]-
-
Give love to mortals reverence to the gods;
Enjoy what blooms for ye, and - think of me.
Thus do I pay the last great debt of life.
Bless them, ye gods! and bear me hence to heaven!
[Throws herself from the rock into the sea.
---
1
"


## p. 6723 (#99) ############################################

6723
HERMAN GRIMM
(1828-)
N THE sense in which the English-speaking people use the
phrase, Herman Grimm is the leading man of letters in Ger-
many, the chief living representative of German culture.
His style is the perfection of simplicity, purity, and beauty; his inter-
ests and sympathies are wide as humanity; his treatment of a subject
is never pedantic, and his scholarship is always human. He is spir-
itually the descendant of Goethe, from whom he inherits his serenity
of judgment and his sympathetic insight into the new, strange, and
steadily changing life of his contemporaries.
His essays and briefer articles form a run-
ning commentary upon the great currents
of thought that influence our time; and
without dwelling upon the surface except
for purposes of illustration, they present the
structure of our intellectual life and exhibit
its essential features.

Herman Grimm was born at Cassel on
January 6th, 1828. His father was Wilhelm
Grimm; he was accustomed to call his uncle
Jacob "Apapa" (with the Greek alpha priv-
ative: "not papa"). It was in the stimulat-
ing circle that gathered about the brothers
Grimm that he grew up: the Arnims, Bren-
tanos, and the group of eminent scholars that gave lustre to the
universities of Göttingen and Berlin. In the social intercourse of the
Prussian capital, it was to the house of Bettina von Arnim that
Grimm was chiefly drawn. He subsequently married Giesela, Bet-
tina's youngest daughter.
HERMAN GRIMM
Grimm's earliest literary efforts were in dramatic form. His
'Novellen,' a series of short stories distinguished by great beauty of
form and tenderness of feeling, were published in 1856, and have
proved their vitality after forty years by a new edition in 1896. He
was about thirty years of age when the first volume of his essays
appeared. Up to this point, his life had been the irresponsible one
of a highly gifted man of artistic temperament who has not yet
found his special aptitude nor set himself a definite goal. The late
Professor Brunn has told how, when he and Grimm were young men


## p. 6724 (#100) ###########################################

6724
HERMAN GRIMM
together in Rome, the latter finally came to see the necessity of win-
ning a firm foothold in some special field and of accomplishing some
well-defined task. It was in pursuance of this thought, and under the
stimulating influence of his young wife's genius, that Grimm wrote
the famous 'Life of Michael Angelo,' and placed himself at one
stroke in the front rank of German letters. This work is now uni-
versally recognized as one of the finest specimens of biographical
writing that modern literature has produced. It also marked an
epoch in the study of the Italian Renaissance.
In 1867 his ambitious novel Unüberwindliche Mächte' (Insuper-
able Powers) appeared, and was received with an enthusiasm which
it has not been able to maintain. In 1873 he was made professor of
art history, a chair which was created for him at the University
of Berlin. The freshness of his ideas and the free grace of his deliv-
ery have attracted thousands to his auditorium, and many Americans
are always among his enthusiastic hearers.
Grimm is bound to America by many ties; first among these was
his love for Emerson. He found a volume of Emerson's essays upon
the table at Bancroft's house. He thought that his command of
English was good, but this book presented difficulties; he took it
home, and soon discovered that these difficulties grew out of the fact
that the writer had original ideas and his own way of expressing
them. He translated the essays on Goethe and Shakespeare into
German; his own two essays on Emerson are finely appreciative both
of the character of American life, and of Emerson as its interpreter
and exponent. He was thus, with Julian Schmidt, the first to make
the American philosopher known to the German public.
His 'Life of Raphael,' which first appeared in 1872, has been the
cause of much unrefreshing strife, in which however the author has
never deigned to take part. Bitter opposition to his views generally
took the form of contemptuous silence on the part of specialists and
the press. Meanwhile the 'Raphael' has reached its fifth edition,
and has been translated into English.
Most popular among his works, after the Michael Angelo,' is
the volume of lectures on Goethe. This fascinating work was the
outgrowth of a series of public lectures delivered in 1876 at the Uni-
versity of Berlin. They do not attempt a systematic life of Goethe,
but in them is presented the poet as he lived and wrought; and as in
'Michael Angelo' the splendid life in Rome and Florence is restored,
so the golden age of German letters lives again in these lectures.
The English translation, by Miss Sarah H. Adams, is dedicated to
Emerson.
In 1889 he lost his wife. It was characteristic of the man that
in these days of overwhelming bereavement he should seek con-


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HERMAN GRIMM
6725
solation in the poetry of Homer. The result of these loving studies
is now before the world in two stately volumes entitled 'Homer's
Iliad. ' The Iliad is treated as if it had never before been read, and
regard is paid only to its poetic contents, its marvelous composition,
its delineation of character, its essential modernness. This book was
a labor of love, and is an inspiring introduction to an unprejudiced
and appreciative study of Homer.
Grimm continues to exert a wide and fine influence upon the intel-
lectual life of his countrymen.
In the forefront of every important
movement, he was among the first to advocate the admission of
women into the university; himself a thorough classical scholar, he
nevertheless held liberal views on the great question of educational
reform; and although rooted in the romanticism of the early part of
the century, he displays the keenest understanding of the tumultuous
life of the modern empire. In his five volumes of essays may be
found a precipitate of all that is best in German culture during the
last forty years.
To the ties which already bound him to this country there was
added in 1896 another. He was elected to membership in the Amer-
ican Academy of Arts and Sciences, to succeed the late Sir John R.
Seeley.
FLORENCE
From the Life of Michael Angelo.
Translation of Fanny Elizabeth Bunnett:
Little, Brown & Co. , publishers, Boston
TH
HERE are names which carry with them something of a charm.
We utter them, and like the prince in the 'Arabian Nights'
who mounted the marvelous horse and spoke the magic
words, we feel ourselves lifted from the earth into the clouds.
We have but to say "Athens! " and all the great deeds of an-
tiquity break upon our hearts like a sudden gleam of sunshine.
We perceive nothing definite; we see no separate figures: but a
cloudy train of glorious men passes over the heavens, and a
breath touches us, which like the first warm wind in the year
seems to give promise of the spring in the midst of snow and
rain. "Florence! " and the magnificence and passionate agitation
of Italy's prime sends forth its fragrance toward us like blossom-
laden boughs, from whose dusky shadow we catch whispers of
the beautiful tongue.
We will now however step nearer, and examine more clearly
the things which, taken collectively at a glance, we call the


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6726
HERMAN GRIMM
history of Athens and Florence. The glowing images now grow
cold, and become dull and empty. Here as everywhere we see
the strife of common passions, the martyrdom and ruin of the
best citizens, the demon-like opposition of the multitude to all
that is pure and elevated, and the disinterestedness of the noblest
patriots suspiciously misunderstood and arrogantly rejected. Vex-
ation, sadness, and sorrow steal over us, instead of the admira-
tion which at first moved us. And yet, what is it all? Turning
away, we cast back one glance from afar; and the old glory lies
again on the picture, and a light in the distance seems to reveal
to us the Paradise which attracts us afresh, as if we set foot on
it for the first time.
Athens was the first city of Greece. Rich, powerful, with a
policy which extended almost over the entire world of that age,
we can conceive that from her emanated all the great things that
were done. Florence, however, in her fairest days was never
the first city of Italy, and in no respect possessed extraordinary
advantages. She lies not on the sea, not even on a river at any
time navigable; for the Arno, on both sides of which the city
rises, often affords in summer scarcely water sufficient to cover
the soil of its broad bed, at that point of its course where it
emerges from narrow valleys into the plain situated between the
diverging arms of the mountain range. The situation of Naples.
is more beautiful, that of Genoa more royal, than Florence;
Rome is richer in treasures of art; Venice possessed a political
power in comparison with which the influence of the Florentines
appears small.
Lastly, these cities and others, such as Pisa and
Milan, have gone through an external history compared with
which that of Florence contains nothing extraordinary; and yet,
notwithstanding, all else that happened in Italy between 1250
and 1530 is colorless when placed side by side with the history
of this one city. Her internal life surpasses in splendor the
efforts of the others at home and abroad. The events through
the intricacies of which she worked her way with vigorous deter-
mination, and the men whom she produced, raised her fame.
above that of the whole of Italy besides, and place Florence as
a younger sister by the side of Athens.
The earlier history of the city before the days of her highest
splendor, stands in the same relation to the subsequent events as
the contests of the Homeric heroes to that which happened in
the historic ages in Greece. The incessant strife between the


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HERMAN GRIMM
6727
hostile nobles, which lasted for centuries and ended with the
annihilation of all, presents to us, on the whole as well as in
detail, the course of an epic poem. These contests, in which the
whole body of the citizens became involved, began with the strife
of two families, brought about by a woman, with murder and
revenge in its train; and it is ever the passion of the leaders
which fans the dying flames into new life. From their ashes at
length arose the true Florence. She had now no longer a war-
like aristocracy like Venice; no popes nor nobles like Rome; no
fleet, no soldiers,-scarcely a territory. Within her walls was a
fickle, avaricious, ungrateful people of parvenus, artisans, and
merchants; who had been subdued, now here and now there, by
the energy or the intrigues of foreign and native tyranny, until
at length, exhausted, they had actually given up their liberty.
And it is the history of these very times which is surrounded
with such glory, and the remembrance of which awakens such
enthusiasm among her own people at the present day, at the
remembrance of their past.
Whatever attracts us in nature and in art,- that higher nature
which man has created,- may be felt also of the deeds of individ-
uals and of nations. A melody, incomprehensible and enticing,
is breathed forth from the events, filling them with importance
and animation. Thus we should like to live and to act,- to have
joined in obtaining this, to have assisted in the contest there.