No More Learning

Had literary gossip, pregnant
with literary malice, produced the absurd impression that Shake-
speare was cold, selfish, and self-idolatrous, this curious fact would.
have been made a damning proof. I have so often in these pages.
used Shakespeare as a contrast to Goethe, that it would be wrong
not to contrast him also on this point. Of all the failings usually
attributed to literary men, Goethe had the least of what could be
called jealousy; of all the qualities which sit gracefully on great-
ness, he had the most of magnanimity. The stream of time will
carry down to after ages the memory of several whose names will
live only in his praise, and the future students of literary history
will have no fact to note of Goethe similar to that noted of
Shakespeare: they will see how enthusiastic was his admiration of
his rivals Schiller, Voss, and Herder, and how quick he was to
perceive the genius of Scott, Byron, Béranger, and Manzoni.
ROBESPIERRE IN PARIS, 1770
HⓇ
E LED a life of honorable poverty, seclusion, and study,-the
life that is led by thousands of young men both in Eng-
land and in France. He occupied a small apartment au
cinquième in the Rue St. Jacques. His slender means admitted of
but very little of that dissipation with which young law students
seek relief from their wearisome studies.
Jurisprudence did not, however, wholly occupy him. He was
in Paris, in the midst of its pleasures, its frivolities, its debates.
Too poor to enjoy many of these delights, of a disposition natur-
ally reserved and unsocial, he had little to interrupt his studies;
so that when not attending lectures or bending over digests, he'
was walking along the quays or down the shady, dusty avenues of
the Tuileries, meditating on the destinies of mankind, and striv-
ing, with the help of Rousseau and others, to solve the vexed
problems which then agitated Europe.
He was in Paris; yet not in its giddy vortex, not among its
brilliant courtiers, not moving amid the rustling hoops of its
court nor adding to the elegant frivolity of its salons. He was
in its dark and narrow streets, amidst its misery and squalid


## p. 9044 (#40) ############################################

9044
GEORGE HENRY LEWES
rage. He fought no duels, sparkled at no suppers, was the hero
of no bonnes fortunes. He was near enough to the court and
the salons to know what passed there; far enough removed from
them to feel some hatred at the distinction. He could see that
the Great were only the Privileged, and had no real title to be an
aristocracy. Any common observer might have seen that; but
the serious, unfriended Robespierre saw it with terrible distinct-
ness.
Aristocracy had indeed fallen more completely than even
kingship. If the nobles ever were the foremost, topmost men,
they long had ceased to be so. A more finished grace of deport-
ment, a more thorough comprehension of the futilities and ele-
gances of luxurious idleness, and perhaps a more perfect code of
dueling, might be conceded to them. If life were as gay and
frivolous a thing as Paris seemed to believe, if its interests were
none other than the ingenious caprices of otiose magnificence,—
then indeed these were the topmost men, and formed a veritable
aristocracy.
But the brilliant fête was drawing to a close; and while the
beams of morning made the rouged and fatigued cheeks of the
giddy dancers look somewhat ghastly, there was heard the distant
tramp of an advancing army, which told them that a conflict was
at hand. Some heard it, and with reckless indifference danced on,
exclaiming like Madame de Pompadour, "Après nous le Déluge! "
Others resolutely shut their ears, and would not hear it.
Since the last days of the Roman Empire, no such spectacle
had been exhibited by society as that exhibited by France dur-
ing the eighteenth century. To look at it from afar, as seen in
books, how gay and brilliant it appears! What wit, what elo-
quence! What charming futilities, what amiable society! What
laughter, what amusement! If man's life were but a genteel
comedy, acted before well-fed, well-bred, well-dressed audiences,
this was a scene to draw forth all our plaudits. A Secretary
of State at eighteen (M. de Maurepas) decides State questions
with a bon-mot. A miserable negro page, Du Barri's favorite, is
thought fitted to become the governor of a royal château. Storms
lower on the horizon: they are met with epigrams! Dandy abbés
make their lacqueys repeat the breviary for them; and having
thus discharged the duties of their office, set themselves with all
seriousness to turning couplets, and to gaining the reputation of
gallantry. Women of the highest rank go to hear mass; but take


## p. 9045 (#41) ############################################

GEORGE HENRY LEWES
9045
with them under guise of prayer-book some of those witty and
licentious novels which are to be compared only to the 'Satyricon '
of Petronius.
These charming women "violated all the common duties of
life, and gave very pleasant little suppers. " They had effaced the
negative from the seventh Commandment, and made marriage, as
the witty Sophie Arnould felicitously defined it, "the sacrament.
of adultery. "
The treasury was drained to enrich favorites, and to supply
splendid fêtes. "Sometimes," says Louis Blanc, "there were cav-
aliers emulous of the preux de Charlemagne, who in sumptuous
gardens, under trees upon which were suspended shields and
lances, feigned a magic sleep, till the Queen appearing deigned
to break the spell. Sometimes after reading of the loves of deer,
these cavaliers took it into their heads to transform themselves
into stags, and to hide themselves clothed in skins in the thickest
part of the shady park. In the days when the nobility had manly
passions, they amused themselves with tournaments which counter-
feited war; now it was dancers who, mingling with the nobles,
wore the colors of their ladies in fêtes counterfeiting tourna-
ments! "
What could France think of her aristocracy, while the high-
est people in the realm were objects of contempt? Her Queen,
the lovely Marie Antoinette, whom France had welcomed with
such rapture and such pride, what figure did she make in this.
dissolute court? Did she set an august example of virtue and
of regal grandeur? Could hopes be formed of her? Alas, no!
Young, ardent, quick-blooded, fond of pleasure, reckless as to
means, careless of appearances, she was no longer the queen to
whom a gallant Brissac, pointing to a jubilant crowd, could say,
"Behold! they are so many lovers! " She had become the object
of hatred. She had been imprudent, perhaps worse; and princely
libelers had circulated atrocious charges against her. She had
forgotten herself so far as to appear at the Bal de l'Opéra. She
had worn a heron's plume which Lauzun had taken from his hat
to give her. It was said that dancing with Dillon, and thinking
herself out of hearing, she had told him to feel how her heart
beat; to which the King sternly replied, "Monsieur Dillon will
take your word for it, madame! " This and more was said of her;
and an irritated nation eagerly credited the odious reports which
transformed their young Queen into a Messalina. That she was


## p. 9046 (#42) ############################################

9046
GEORGE HENRY LEWES
libeled, no one pretends to doubt; but then those libels were
almost universally accredited.
And the King? His great occupation was lock-making! His
brothers were less innocently employed: the one devoting him-
self to intrigue, a shameless libeler and daring conspirator; and
the other to flaunting at bals masqués.
Thus were the great names of France illustrious only in the
annals of debauchery or folly; and the people asked themselves,
"Are these our rulers? " The few exceptions to the general
degradation only make the degradation more patent. Nobles,
heretofore so proud, were now ambitious of repairing their ruined
fortunes by marrying the daughters of opulent financiers. The
courts of justice were scandalized by trials for robbery, in which
noblemen figured as criminals. Not only had they lost their self-
respect, but they had also lost the respect of the nation.
Seriousness and serious topics were by no means banished:
they were only transformed into agréments. Philosophy was
rouged and wore a hoop. It found ready admission into all
salons. Ruddy lips propounded momentous problems; delicate
fingers turned over dusty folios. The "high argument" of God's
existence and man's destiny, the phenomena of nature, the deep-
est and most inscrutable of questions, were discussed over the
supper table, where bons-mots and champagne sparkled as brightly
as the eyes of the questioners. No subject was too arid for
these savant-asses (to use Mademoiselle de Launay's admirable
expression): mathematics did not rebut them; political economy
was charming; and even financial reports were read as eagerly
as romances. And amidst this chaos of witticisms, paradoxes,
and discussions, colonels were seated, occupied with embroidery
or with parfilage; noblemen made love to other noblemen's
wives; while a scented abbé
"Fait le procès au Dieu qui le nourrit. ”
Society never ex ited greater contrasts nor greater anarchy;
old creeds and ancient traditions were crumbling away; and
amidst the intellectual orgies of the epoch the most antagonistic
elements had full play. D'Alembert, Lalande, Lagrange, Buffon,
and Lavoisier, were jostled by Cagliostro, Mesmer, Saint-Martin,
and Weishaupt: the exact sciences had rivals in the wildest chime-
ras and quackeries. Atheists proclaimed with all the fervor of
conviction their faith in the eternal progress of humanity; skeptics


## p. 9047 (#43) ############################################

GEORGE HENRY LEWES
9047
who assailed Christianity with all the powers of mockery and
logic were declared the apostles of the three fundamental prin-
ciples of Christianity, the principles of charity, fraternity, and
equality. Voltaire attacked all sacred institutions, devoting him-
self to écraser l'infâme. Montesquieu examined with no reverent
spirit the laws of every species of established government. Rous-
seau went deeper still, and struck at the root of all society by a
production as daring as it was well-timed, the 'Discours sur
l'Inégalité. '
The gayety, frivolity, wit, and elegance of France, so charm-
ing to those who lived in the salons, formed as it were but the
graceful vine which clustered over a volcano about to burst; or
rather let me say it was the rouge which on a sallow, sunken
cheek simulated the ruddy glow of health. Lying deep down in
the heart of society there was profound seriousness: the sadness
of misery, of want, of slavery clanking its chains, of free thought
struggling for empire. This seriousness was about to find utter-
ance. The most careless observer could not fail to perceive the
heavy thunder-clouds which darkened the horizon of this sunny
sky. The court and the salons were not France: they occupied
the foremost place upon the stage, but another actor was about
to appear, before whom they would shrink into insignificance;
the actor was the People.


## p. 9048 (#44) ############################################

9048
JONAS LIE
(1833-)
ONAS LIE is one of three men who make up the literary trium-
virate of Norway. Björnson, Ibsen, and Lie are the veteran
writers of the present day who have given international
importance to Norwegian belles-lettres. Lie lacks the heroic proportions
of the other two; but his position in his own land is as secure as
theirs, and his work deserves and receives critical foreign attention.
Jonas Lauritz Idemil Lie (the family name is pronounced Lee) was
born June 11th, 1833, at Eker, a small town in southern Norway. His
father was a lawyer, who when Jonas was
a lad moved in some official capacity to
the wild northern seaport of Tromsö. This
early presence of the sea may have given
color and direction to Lie's subsequent lit-
erary work, in which coast life is so prom-
inent a theme. This residence also gave
him opportunity for an acquaintance with
the primitive fishing districts. He entered
the naval academy at Frederiksværn, but
near-sightedness compelled him to stop. He
was then sent to school at Christiania to fit
for the university at Heftberg's Gymnasium,
where he fell in with Björnson and Ibsen,
forming friendships kept up in the case of
the former through later years. At the university, Lie studied juris-
prudence, and began to practice law at Kongsvinger; he prospered
in his profession, and soon was socially prominent. But in the Nor-
wegian financial crisis of the sixties he was ruined; and in 1868-
having hitherto done journalistic and literary work enough to test his
talent - he went to Christiania, there to devote himself single-eyed to
letters.
JONAS LIE

He had the usual young literary man's struggle at first; did a lit-
tle teaching; and got on his feet by his first novel, The Visionary'
(1870), which had immediate recognition. After the enlightened cus-
tom of the country, the Norwegian government sent him to the far
north to study life, and later allowed him a stipend to travel abroad
for the purpose of cultivating himself as a poet. His Tales and
Sketches from Norway' (1872) was written mostly in Rome. The


## p. 9049 (#45) ############################################

JONAS LIE
9049
two novels The Bark "Failure" and "The Pilot and his Wife' (1874)
are typical sea stories, in which Lie excels. This year he was granted
the "poet's pension," the same official recognition received by Björn-
son and Ibsen. 'The Pilot and his Wife' is perhaps the best known
of his novels; and from this time Lie has worked steadily to produce
the score of volumes constituting his literary baggage and adding
solidly to his reputation. In the main he has lived abroad, in differ-
ent German cities and in Paris,-like Ibsen in this respect; but he
spent the summer of 1893 in Norway, after an absence of twelve
years, and this visit was signalized by festivities in Christiania and
other cities.
Lie's Italian experience brought forth Frankfulla,' 'Antonio Ban-
niera,' and 'Faustina Strozzi' (1875), minor works not calling out his
native gift. Thomas Ross' (1878) and 'Adam Schrader' (1879) depict
city life. In 'Rutland' (1881) and 'Press On' (1882) he returns to the
sea for inspiration. The Slave For Life' (1883) is a strong story,
ranking among the best of his maturest productions. The Family
at Gilje' appeared the same year. 'A Malstrom (1884), Eight
Stories' (1885), 'The Daughters of the Commodore,' a finely represent-
ative work (1886), Married Life' (1887), 'Evil Powers' (1890), Troll
I. and II. (1891-2: a group of marine horror tales), and Niobe'
(1893), complete the list of fiction. A three-act comedy, 'Grabow's
Cat' (1880), after rejection at Copenhagen, was successful at Christi-
ania and Stockholm; and another comedy, 'Merry Women,' is of so
recent date as 1894.
Lie's earlier works are marked by keen characterization, sympa-
thy for the life described, truthful observation of traits external and
internal, and a certain pathos and poetry of treatment which give
his fiction charm. Of late years Lie, like his literary compeers Björn-
son and Ibsen, like so many distinguished writers in other lands, has
moved pretty steadily towards realism and the unflinching present-
ment of unpalatable fact,-retaining, however, his sympathetic touch.
A powerful but unpleasant story like The Slave For Life,' written
more than a dozen years ago, is a significant work in denoting this
change in Lie; the same is true of the following novel, The Family
at Gilje,' although this study is relieved by humor. When the novel-
ist writes of the sea which he knows so marvelously well, when he
limns the simple provincial folk who live by the water or go forth
upon it for their daily bread,—he is admirably true, and a master at
home with his subject. Björnson said of Lie in a public address:
"His friends know that he only needs to dip the net down into him-
self to bring up a full catch. " To carry out the figure, the fattest
catch with Lie is a sea catch. When writing in scenes the most
remote from the marine atmosphere, he has caught the very spirit


## p. 9050 (#46) ############################################

9050
JONAS LIE
of the ocean and its wayfarers. This is true of The Pilot and his
Wife' (the English translation of which is entitled 'A Norse Love
Story'), from which a chapter is given. Penned in a small Italian
mountain town, it is, as Edmund Gosse puts it, "one of the saltest
stories ever published. "
Lie has been much translated, and a number of his novels and
short stories have appeared in English.
ELIZABETH'S CHOICE
From A Norse Love Story. Copyright 1876, by S. C. Griggs & Co.
IN
N THE evening, when the gentlemen were sitting in the grove
alone, and Elizabeth came out with a fresh supply of hot
water for their toddy, the chairman permitted himself to offer
a joke which drove the blood up to her cheeks. She made no
reply, but the mug trembled in her hands as she put it down,
and at the same time she gave to the one concerned a glance so
decidedly bitter and scornful that he for an instant felt himself
corrected.
"By heavens, Beck! " he exclaimed, "did you see what eyes
she fixed on me? they fairly lightened. "
"Yes, she is a noble girl,” replied Beck; who was enraged,
but had his reason for being circumspect before his superior.
"Ah, a noble girl! " added the latter in an irritated tone,
which made Carl feel that he meant she ought rather to be
called an impudent servant.
"Yes, I mean a handsome girl," added Carl, evasively correct-
ing himself with a forced laugh.
Elizabeth had heard it. She was wounded, and commenced in
her own mind, for the first time, a comparison between the lieu-
tenant and Salve. Salve would not have prevaricated thus if he
had been in this one's stead.
When later in the evening he chanced upon her alone, as she
was putting things in order on the steps after their departure,
he said half anxiously:-
"You did not really take that to heart, Elizabeth, from the
old, coarse, blustering brute? He is really a brave and honest
fellow, who does not mean anything by his talk. "
Elizabeth was silent, and sought to leave him and go inside
with what she had in her hands.


## p. 9051 (#47) ############################################

JONAS LIE
9051
"Yes, but I cannot endure that you should be insulted, Eliza-
beth! " he broke out suddenly in wild passion, and tried to seize
her arm: "this hand, with which you work, is dearer to me than
all the fine ladies' together. "
"Herr Beck! " she burst out wildly, with tears in her eyes,
"I go my way this very night if I hear more! "
She disappeared in the hallway, but Beck followed.
"Elizabeth," he whispered, "I am in earnest! " She tore
herself violently from him and went into the kitchen, where the
sisters were standing talking by the fire.
Young Beck, in the beautiful starlit night, took a lonely
walk into the interior of the island, and did not return until past
midnight.
He had not meant it so decidedly in earnest; but now, since
he had seen her before him, so wonderfully beautiful, with the
tears in her eyes-now, yes, now he did mean it in sober ear-
He was ready to engage himself to her in spite of all
considerations, if need be.
nest.
The next morning he went with his pleasure-boat to Arendal.
He had however first, in passing, whispered to her:-
"I am in earnest! "
These words, again repeated, entirely confused Elizabeth. She
had lain and thought upon this same remark during the night,
and resented it with indignation; for it could only signify that
he ventured to declare to her that he was charmed with her,
and she had already determined to carry out her threat to leave
the house. But now, repeated-in that tone! Did he really
mean to offer her his hand and heart-to become his, the officer's
wife?
There lay before her fancy a glittering expanse of early
dreams which almost intoxicated her. She was distracted and
pale the entire week, and thought with dread of Sunday, when
he should come again. What would he then say? And what
should she answer?
He did not come, however, since a business trip had un-
expectedly become necessary. On the contrary, Marie Fostberg
came, and she felt that the girl's disposition in some way or
other must have changed; for she evidently shunned every assist-
ance from her, and in glances which Marie accidentally caught
there was something hard and unfriendly. It affected her more
closely than she herself would admit. Faithful as she was, she


## p. 9052 (#48) ############################################

9052
JONAS LIE
sought following a sudden impulse-to pat her in a friendly
way on the shoulder; but this apparently made quite another
impression,- she could just as well have caressed a piece of
wood: and when she entered the sitting-room she could not help
asking, "What has come over Elizabeth? " But the others had
remarked nothing.
Carl Beck, contrary to custom, came not the next Saturday,
but earlier, in the middle of the week; and he walked with rapid.
strides through the rooms when he did not see Elizabeth in the
sitting-room.
He found her at last up-stairs. She stood looking out of the
window in the upper hall, from which there was a view of
the grove up the mountain slope, and of the sky above. She
heard his step, and that he was coming up the stairs; and she
felt an unspeakable anxiety, a panic, almost as if she could spring
out of the window. What should she answer?
Then he came, and put his arm about her waist, and half
above a whisper asked:-
-
"Elizabeth! will you be mine? "
For the first time in her life she felt near fainting. She
hardly knew what she did, but pushed him, involuntarily, violently
from her.
He seized her hand again, and asked:
"Elizabeth, will you become my wife? "
She was very pale, as she answered:
"Yes. "
But when he would again place his arm about her waist, she
suddenly sprang back with an expression of terror.
"Elizabeth! " said he tenderly,—and sought again to draw her
to him, "what affects you so? If you knew how I have longed
for this hour! "
"Not now-no more now! " she prayed, while she held her
hand against him; "later-»
«<
Why, you say 'yes,' Elizabeth that you are my
But
he felt that now she would have him go. For a long time she
sat on a chest up there, silent and gazing before her.
It was accomplished, then. Her heart beat so loud that she
could hear it, and it was as if she felt a dull pain there. Her
face gradually assumed a rigid, cold look. She thought he was
now telling his stepmother that they were engaged, and she was
preparing herself for what she would have to endure.
-
-
>>


## p.
9053 (#49) ############################################

JONAS LIE
9053
She waited to be called down; at last she determined to go
herself.
In the sitting-room each one sat wholly taken up with his
own work. The lieutenant pretended to be reading a book,—over
which, however, when she entered he sent her a stolen, tenderly
anxious glance.
Supper was brought in, and everything went on as usual. He
joked a little, as was his wont. She thought it was as if a fog
had enveloped them all. Mina asked her once if anything ailed
her, and she answered mechanically, "No. "
It was therefore to happen later in the evening. She went in
and out as usual with the tea things; still it was as if she could
not feel the floor under her feet, or what she carried in her hands.
The evening passed, and they retired without anything having
occurred. In the dim light of the stairway he grasped her hand
warmly, and said, "Good-night, my Elizabeth, my-my Elizabeth! "
But she would not return his grasp, and when he approached her
brow with his lips she drew back quickly.
"I came out. here alone to tell you this, dear, beloved Eliza-
beth! " whispered he, with a trembling fervor in his voice, while
he sought to embrace her. "I must return again to-morrow.
Shall I go without a sign that you care for me? "
She slowly bent her brow toward him, and he kissed it, when
she immediately left him.
"Good-night, my beloved! " whispered he after her.
Elizabeth lay long awake. She felt the need of having a good
cry, and her heart was chilled within her. When she at last slept
she did not dream about her lover, but about Salve-the whole
time about Salve. She saw him gazing at her with his earnest
face; it was so heavy with sorrow, and she stood like a criminal
before him. He said something which she could not hear, but
she understood that he cursed her, and that he had thrown her
dress overboard.
She arose early, and sought to engage her thoughts with
other dreams,- her future as the officer's wife. But it was as
if everything that heretofore had seemed only as gold would now
present itself before her as brass. She felt unhappy and rest-
less, and bethought herself a long time before entering the sitting-
room.
Carl Beck did not go that morning; he had perceived that
there was something or other that put Elizabeth out of sorts.


## p. 9054 (#50) ############################################

9054
JONAS LIE
During the forenoon, when his sisters were out and his step-
mother was occupied, he fortunately chanced to have the oppor-
tunity of speaking with her alone. She was still in a fever, and
expected that he had spoken to Madam Beck.
"Elizabeth," he said, gently smoothing her hair, for she
seemed so embarrassed as she stood looking down, "I could not
go before I had spoken with you again. "
Her eyes were still lowered, but she did not reject his hand.
"Do you really care for me? Will you become my wife? "
She was silent. At last, a little paler, and as if somewhat
overcome, she said:-
"Yes, Herr Beck! "
"Say du to me-say Carl," he fervently prayed, "and-look
at me! "
She looked at him; but not as he had expected. It was with
a fixed, cold glance, wherewith she said:-
"Yes-when we are betrothed. "
"Are we not betrothed ? »
"When will your stepmother know it? " she asked, somewhat
hesitatingly.
"Dear Elizabeth! they must not notice anything here at home
until until three months are past, when I am — »
But he now noticed the expression of her face, and the quick
way in which she withdrew her hand, which led him to reserve
what he had originally thought, and he corrected himself hastily:
Are you
"During next week, from Arendal I shall write to father, and
then I will tell my stepmother what I have written.
satisfied, Elizabeth, dear Elizabeth! or will you have it done
now? " he exclaimed resolutely, and again seized her hand.
"No, no, not now! -next week. - do not let it be done until
next week! " she broke out in sudden dread; at the same time
she almost beseechingly returned the pressure of his hand - the
first he had gotten from her.
"And then will you be mine, Elizabeth ? »
"Yes - then! » She sought to escape his eye.
―――――――
—
"Farewell then, Elizabeth; but I will come again on Satur-
day; I can be no longer without seeing you. "
"Farewell! " said she, somewhat lifelessly.
He sprang down to the sail-boat which lay in waiting; but
she did not look after him, and passed in the opposite direction
with bowed head into the house.


## p. 9055 (#51) ############################################

JONAS LIE
9955
Small things often weigh heavily in the world of impressions.
Elizabeth was overwhelmed by his noble way of thinking, when
he had declared that he would elevate her to be his wife. She
felt it was her worth which in his eyes had outweighed all else.
That he should shrink from the outward struggle with the fam-
ily, had on the other hand not occurred to her. To be sure, she
had felt that it would be painful; but on this point she sheltered
herself behind his manly shield. When he now so unexpectedly
began to put off the time of announcement, first even by saying
that he intended to be absent when the matter came up at home,
there passed through her a feeling which she, in her inward
dread, instinctively grasped as a saving straw, which possibly
might enable her to reconsider.
The two days passed hard and heavily with her, until Carl
Beck returned again, and the nights were as a fever.
Saturday evening he came, and she was the first one he
greeted. He hardly seemed longer to be desirous of concealing
their relation to each other: while she, pale and quiet, was busy
going in and out of the room.
He had with him a letter from his father, which was read at
the table. It was dated from a South-American port, and spoke
of Salve. In the latitude of Cape Hatteras they had had hard
weather, during which it was necessary to cut away the main-
mast's rigging. The topmast still remained hanging by a couple
of ropes, and reeled forward and back in the violent sea, against
the under-rigging, so that the latter was threatened with destruc-
tion. Then Salve Kristiansen had ventured up to cut away the
rest, and while he sat there the whole went overboard. He fell
with it, but was so fortunate in falling as to catch hold of a
topping-lift and save himself. "It was a great piece of daring,"
added the communication in closing; "but for the rest, every-
thing is not with him as it should be, and as was expected. "
«< Oh, no! I thought that before," remarked young Beck, and
shrugged his shoulders scornfully: "he was a God-forsaken
scamp, and if he did not end that time he will soon have another
chance. "
He did not see the angry eyes Elizabeth fixed upon him at
these words. She felt with despair, at this instant, that it was
her fault alone that Salve behaved so recklessly, and had become
what he was. She sat for a long time silent, angry, and quiet,
with her hands in her lap; she was meditating a decision.


## p. 9056 (#52) ############################################

9056
JONAS LIE
Before they retired, Carl Beck whispered to her:-
"I have sent a letter to father to-day, and to-morrow, Eliza-
beth, will be our betrothal day! Mina will show a pair of won-
dering eyes. "
Elizabeth was the last one up, as she put the room to rights,
and when she went she took a piece of paper with writing.
materials out with her. She lay down on her bed; but at mid-
night she sat with a candle and covered a scrap of paper with
letters. It read:
-
"PARDON me that I cannot become your wife, for my heart is
another's.
ELIZABETH RAKLEV. "
She folded it together, and fastened it with a pin in want of
a wafer.
Then she softly opened the door to the chamber where
Madam Beck slept, put her mouth close to her ear, and whispered
her name. She awoke, and was quite frightened when she saw
Elizabeth standing before her fully dressed, and apparently ready
to leave.
"Madam Beck! " said she softly, "I will confide something to
you, and beg advice and help of you. Your stepson has asked if
I would be his wife. It was last Sunday- and I answered yes;
but now I will not. And now I want to go to my aunt; or I
would prefer to go further, if you know of any way for me. For
otherwise I fear he will follow me. "
Madam Beck sat as if the heavens had fallen. She assumed
an incredulous, scornful expression; but when she felt that every-
thing really must be as stated, she involuntarily sat up higher in
bed.
"But why do you come with this just now, in the night? "
she remarked at last, suspiciously examining her: she thought she
still lacked full light in the matter.
"Because he has written his father to-day about it, and is
going to tell you and the rest to-morrow. "
"Ah, he has already written! Hence it was for this reason
that he got you into this house! " she uttered after a pause,
somewhat bitterly. Then it struck her that there was something
noble in Elizabeth's conduct. She looked at her more amiably
and said:
"Yes, you are right: it is best for you to go to -a place
where he cannot so easily reach you. "


## p. 9057 (#53) ############################################

JONAS LIE
9057
She gave herself again to thought; then a bright idea struck
her, and she rose and dressed. There was a man's definiteness
about her, and she was wont to direct affairs. The Dutch skip-
per Garvloit, who was married to her half-sister, had just during
the last days been inquiring for a Norse girl, that could help
them about the house; and here indeed was a place for Eliza-
beth. She had only to go on board his trader, which lay ready
to sail.
She wrote at once a letter to Garvloit, which she handed to
Elizabeth, together with a tolerably large sum of money: "Your
wages for your work here," she said.
In the still, moonlit night Elizabeth rowed alone the little
boat into Arendal. The bright sound was filled with myriads of
reflected stars 'twixt the deep shadows of the sloping ridges,
while more than one light mast betrayed that there were vessels
close to the land. Occasionally the falling stars shot athwart the
heavens, and she felt a jubilant gladness which she must often
subdue by hard rowing for long stretches. She was, as it were,
liberated, freed from some pressing evil. And Marie Fostberg -
how delighted she would be to see her now!
She reached town before daybreak and went straight up to
her aunt's, to whom she explained that Madam Beck desired that
she should get a place in Holland with Skipper Garvloit, who
was just ready to sail. She showed her the letter, there was such
pressing haste. The aunt listened for a time, and then said sud-
denly:-
"Elizabeth, there has been something out of the way with
the naval officer! "
"Yes, aunt, there has," she answered, promptly: "he has
offered himself to me! "
"Well, then — »
"And then I as good as promised him; but I will not have
him. So I told Madam Beck. "
The aunt's gestures showed that she thought this astounding
intelligence.
"So you will not have him? " she said at last:
then it was
perhaps because you would rather have Salve? »
"Yes, aunt," she answered, somewhat softly.
"Why didn't you take him, then? " said the aunt, a little
harshly.
The tears came to Elizabeth's eyes.
XVI-567


## p. 9058 (#54) ############################################

9058
JONAS LIE
"Yes, as one makes his bed so he must lie," remarked the
old woman, who was always strong in proverbs; and gave her
attention to the morning coffee.
Elizabeth, on the way to get some one to row her out to the
trader, went in by the post-office, where she found Marie already
up, in her morning dress and busy in the day-room. The latter
was very much astonished when Elizabeth told her her new de-
cision. It was so profitable, and an almost independent position,
and Madam Beck had herself advised it, Elizabeth explained;
and showed much ingenuity in avoiding putting her on the track.
That Marie Fostberg did not after all get things to rhyme, Eliza-
beth could understand by her eyes. When they took leave they
embraced each other and wept.
There was grand amazement out at the country-place that
Elizabeth was absent. The lieutenant had found her letter in
the crack of his door, but had not imagined that she had left;
and he had gone out with it in violent excitement, without com-
ing home again until late in the afternoon.
Madam Beck had meanwhile intrusted the matter to the
daughters, and they understood that it was to be kept secret from
outsiders.
Although his eyes searched, still he did not inquire expressly
for Elizabeth until evening; and when he heard that she was
gone, and probably was now under way for Holland, he sat for
a time as if petrified. Thereupon he looked scornfully upon them,
one after another.
>>
―
"If I knew that I had any one of you to thank for this," he
burst out at last, "then - Here he grasped the chair he sat
upon, cast it on the floor so that it broke, and jumped upon it.
But her letter was unfortunately plain enough: she loved another,
and he also knew who that other was.
Translation of Mrs. Ole Bull.


## p. 9059 (#55) ############################################

9959
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
(1809-1865)
BY HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE
B
ORN in 1809 and dying in 1865, Mr. Lincoln was the contem-
porary of every distinguished man of letters in America
to the close of the war; but from none of them does he
appear to have received literary impulse or guidance. He might
have read, if circumstances had been favorable, a large part of the
work of Irving, Bryant, Poe, Hawthorne, Emerson, Lowell, Whittier,
Holmes, Longfellow, and Thoreau, as it came from the press; but
he was entirely unfamiliar with it apparently until late in his career,
and it is doubtful if even at that period he knew it well or cared
greatly for it. He was singularly isolated by circumstances and by
temperament from those influences which usually determine, within
certain limits, the quality and character of a man's style.
And Mr. Lincoln had a style,—a distinctive, individual, character-
istic form of expression. In his own way he gained an insight into
the structure of English, and a freedom and skill in the selection
and combination of words, which not only made him the most convin-
cing speaker of his time, but which have secured for his speeches
a permanent place in literature. One of those speeches is already
known wherever the English language is spoken; it is a classic by
virtue not only of its unique condensation of the sentiment of a
tremendous struggle into the narrow compass of a few brief para-
graphs, but by virtue of that instinctive felicity of style which gives
to the largest thought the beauty of perfect simplicity. The two
Inaugural Addresses are touched by the same deep feeling, the same
large vision, the same clear, expressive, and persuasive eloquence;
and these qualities are found in a great number of speeches, from
Mr. Lincoln's first appearance in public life. In his earliest expres-
sions of his political views there is less range; but there is the
structural order, clearness, sense of proportion, ease, and simplicity.
which give classic quality to the later utterances. Few speeches
have so little of what is commonly regarded as oratorical quality;
few have approached so constantly the standards and character of
literature. While a group of men of gift and opportunity in the East
were giving American literature its earliest direction, and putting the


## p. 9060 (#56) ############################################

9060
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
stamp of a high idealism on its thought and a rare refinement of
spirit on its form, this lonely, untrained man on the old frontier was
slowly working his way through the hardest and rudest conditions to
perhaps the foremost place in American history, and forming at the
same time a style of singular and persuasive charm.
There is, however, no possible excellence without adequate educa-
tion; no possible mastery of any art without thorough training.
Lincoln has sometimes been called an accident, and his literary gift
an unaccountable play of nature; but few men have ever more defi-
nitely and persistently worked out what was in them by clear intel-
ligence than Mr. Lincoln, and no speaker or writer of our time has,
according to his opportunities, trained himself more thoroughly in the
use of English prose. Of educational opportunity in the scholastic
sense, the future orator had only the slightest. He went to school
"by littles," and these "littles" put together aggregated less than a
year; but he discerned very early the practical uses of knowledge, and
set himself to acquire it. This pursuit soon became a passion, and
this deep and irresistible yearning did more for him perhaps than
richer opportunities would have done. It made him a constant stu-
dent, and it taught him the value of fragments of time.
"He was
always at the head of his class," writes one of his schoolmates, "and
passed us rapidly in his studies. He lost no time at home, and when
he was not at work was at his books. He kept up his studies on
Sunday, and carried his books with him to work, so that he might
read when he rested from labor. " "I induced my husband to permit
Abe to read and study at home as well as at school," writes his step-
mother. "At first he was not easily reconciled to it, but finally he
too seemed willing to encourage him to a certain extent. Abe was a
dutiful son to me always, and we took particular care when he was
reading not to disturb him,- would let him read on and on until he
quit of his own accord. "
The books within his reach were few, but they were among the
best. First and foremost was that collection of great literature in
prose and verse, the Bible: a library of sixty-six volumes, present-
ing nearly every literary form, and translated at the fortunate mo-
ment when the English language had received the recent impress of
its greatest masters of the speech of the imagination. This literature
Mr. Lincoln knew intimately, familiarly, fruitfully; as Shakespeare
knew it in an earlier version, and as Tennyson knew it and was
deeply influenced by it in the form in which it entered into and
trained Lincoln's imagination. Then there was that wise and very
human text-book of the knowledge of character and life, Æsop's
Fables'; that masterpiece of clear presentation, 'Robinson Crusoe';
and that classic of pure English, The Pilgrim's Progress. ' These four


## p. 9061 (#57) ############################################

ABRAHAM LINCOLN
9061
books in the hands of a meditative boy, who read until the last
ember went out on the hearth, began again when the earliest light
reached his bed in the loft of the log cabin, who perched himself on
a stump, book in hand, at the end of every furrow in the plowing
season—contained the elements of a movable university.
To these must be added many volumes borrowed from more fortu-
nate neighbors; for he had "read through every book he had heard of
in that country, for a circuit of fifty miles. " A history of the United
States and a copy of Weems's 'Life of Washington' laid the founda-
tions of his political education. That he read with his imagination
as well as with his eyes is clear from certain words spoken in the
Senate chamber at Trenton in 1861. "May I be pardoned," said Mr.
Lincoln, "if on this occasion I mention that way back in my child-
hood, the earliest days of my being able to read, I got hold of a
small book, such a one as few of the members have ever seen,-
Weems's 'Life of Washington. ' I remember all the accounts there
given of the battle-fields and struggles for the liberties of the coun-
try; and none fixed themselves upon my imagination so deeply as the
struggle here at Trenton, New Jersey. The crossing of the river, the
contest with the Hessians, the great hardships endured at that time,
-
- all fixed themselves on my memory more than any single Revolu-
tionary event; and you all know, for you have all been boys, how
those early impressions last longer than any others. "
"When Abe and I returned to the house from work," writes John
Hanks, "he would go to the cupboard, snatch a piece of corn bread,
sit down, take a book, cock his legs up as high as his head, and read.
We grubbed, plowed, weeded, and worked together barefooted in the
field. Whenever Abe had a chance in the field while at work, or at
the house, he would stop and read. " And this habit was kept up
until Mr. Lincoln had found both his life work and his individual ex-
pression. Later he devoured Shakespeare and Burns; and the poetry
of these masters of the dramatic and lyric form, sprung like himself
from the common soil, and like him self-trained and directed, fur-
nished a kind of running accompaniment to his work and his play.
What he read he not only held tenaciously, but took into his imagin-
ation and incorporated into himself. His familiar talk was enriched
with frequent and striking illustrations from the Bible and sop's
Fables. '
This passion for knowledge and for companionship with the great
writers would have gone for nothing, so far as the boy's training
in expression was concerned, if he had contented himself with acqui-
sition; but he turned everything to account.