No More Learning

It is said that were he to
lose his presence of mind for a single moment, he would run the
greatest danger. ”
«Oh! it would be horrible, cried the marchioness, addressing
Adrienne, “if he were wounded there - under our eyes! ”
" Every wound does not kill,” replied her friend, with an
accent of such cold indifference that the marchioness looked at
her with surprise, and said to her, “My dear girl, what you say
is cruel! ”
(
(
>


## p. 14195 (#385) ##########################################

EUGÈNE SUE
14195
>
“It is the air of the place that acts on me," answered Adri-
enne with an icy smile.
“Look! look! the lion-tamer is about to shoot his arrow at
the panther,” said the marquis suddenly. “No doubt he will
next perform the hand-to-hand grapple. ”
Morok was at this moment in front of the stage, but he had
yet to traverse its entire breadth to reach the cavern's mouth.
He stopped an instant, adjusted an arrow to the string, knelt
down behind a mass of rock, took deliberate aim — and then the
arrow hissed across the stage, and was lost in the depths of
the cavern, into which the panther had retired, after showing
for a moment her threatening head to the audience. Hardly had
the arrow disappeared, than Death, purposely irritated by Goliath
(who was invisible), sent forth a howl of rage, as if she had
been really wounded. Morok's actions became so expressive, he
evinced so naturally his joy at having hit the wild beast, that
a tempest of applause burst from every quarter of the house.
Then throwing away his bow, he drew a dagger from his girdle,
took it between his teeth, and began to crawl forward on hands
and knees, as though he meant to surprise the wounded panther
in his den. To render the illusion perfect, Death, again excited
by Goliath, who struck him with an iron bar, sent forth fright-
ful howlings from the depths of the cavern.
The gloomy aspect of the forest, only half lighted with a red-
dish glare, was so effective, the howlings of the panther were so
furious, the gestures, attitude, and countenance of Morok were
so expressive of terror, that the audience, attentive and trem-
bling, now maintained a profound silence. Every one held his
a
breath; and a kind of shudder came over the spectators, as
though they expected some horrible event. What gave such a
fearful air of truth to the pantomime of Morok was that, as he
approached the cavern step by step, he approached also the Eng-
lishman's box. In spite of himself, the lion-tamer, fascinated by
terror, could not take his eyes from the large green eyes of this
man; and it seemed as if every one of the abrupt movements
which he made in crawling along was produced by a species of
magnetic attraction, caused by the fixed gaze of the fatal wa-
gerer. Therefore the nearer Morok approached, the more ghastly
and livid he became. At sight of this pantomime, which was no
longer acting, but the real expression of intense fear, the deep


## p. 14196 (#386) ##########################################

14196
EUGÈNE SUE
upon her.
and trembling silence which had reigned in the theatre was once
more interrupted by cheers, with which were mingled the roar-
ings of the panther, and the distant growls of the lion and tiger.
The Englishman leaned almost out of his box, with a fright-
ful sardonic smile on his lip; and with his large eyes still fixed,
panted for breath. The perspiration ran down his bald red fore-
head, as if he had really expended an incredible amount of mag-
netic power in attracting Morok, whom he now saw close to the
cavern entrance. The moment was decisive. Crouching down
with his dagger in his hand, following with eye and gesture
every movement of Death,— who, roaring furiously, and open-
ing wide her enormous jaws, seemed determined to guard the
entrance of her den,- Morok waited for the moment to rush
There is such fascination in danger, that Adrienne
shared in spite of herself the feeling of painful curiosity, mixed
with terror, that thrilled through all the spectators. Leaning for-
ward like the marchioness, and gazing upon this scene of fearful
interest, the lady still held mechanically in her hand the Indian
bouquet preserved since the morning. Suddenly Morok raised
a wild shout, as he rushed towards Death; who answered this
exclamation by a dreadful roar, and threw herself upon her
master with so much fury that Adrienne, in alarm, believing
the man lost, drew herself back, and covered her face with her
hands. Her Aowers slipped from her grasp, and falling upon
the stage, rolled into the cavern in which Morok was struggling
with the panther.
Quick as lightning, supple and agile as a tiger, yielding to
,
the intoxication of his love, and to the wild ardor excited in
him by the roaring of the panther, Djalma sprang at one bound
upon the stage, drew his dagger, and rushed into the cavern
to recover Adrienne's nosegay. At that instant Morok, being
wounded, uttered a dreadful cry for help; the panther, rendered
still more furious at sight of Djalma, made the most desperate
efforts to break her chain. Unable to succeed in doing so, she
rose upon her hind legs, in order to seize Djalma, then within
reach of her sharp claws. It was only by bending down his
head, throwing himself on his knees, and twice plunging his
dagger into her belly with the rapidity of lightning, that Djalma
escaped certain death. The panther gave a howl, and fell with
her whole weight upon the prince. For a second, during which
1


## p. 14197 (#387) ##########################################

EUGÈNE SUE
14197
lasted her terrible agony, nothing was seen but a confused and
convulsive mass of black limbs, and white garments stained
with blood: and then Djalma rose, pale, bleeding – for he was
wounded; and standing erect, his eye flashing with savage pride,
his foot on the body of the panther, he held in his hand Adri-
enne's bouquet, and cast towards her a glance which told the
intensity of his love. Then only did Adrienne feel her strength
fail her; for only superhuman courage had enabled her to watch
all the terrible incidents of the struggle.
THE CHASTISEMENT
From «The Wandering Jew)
I
-
T is night. The moon shines and the stars glimmer in the
midst of a serene but cheerless sky; the sharp whistlings
of the north wind - that fatal dry and icy breeze-ever and
anon burst forth in violent gusts.
With its harsh and cutting
breath it sweeps the Heights of Montmartre. On the highest
point of the hills a man is standing. His long shadow is cast
upon the stony, moonlit ground. He gazes on the immense city
which lies outspread beneath his feet,- Paris, - with the dark
outline of its towers, cupolas, domes, and steeples, standing out
from the limpid blue of the horizon, while from the midst of the
ocean of masonry rises a luminous vapor, that reddens the starry
azure of the sky. It is the distant reflection of the thousand
fires which at night, the hour of pleasures, light up so joyously
the noisy capital.
“No,” said the wayfarer: “it is not to be. The Lord will not
exact it. Is not twice enough?
“Five centuſies ago, the avenging hand of the Almighty
drove me hither from the uttermost confines of Asia. A solitary
traveler, I had left behind me more grief, despair, disaster, and
death, than the innumerable armies of a hundred devastating
conquerors. I entered this town, and it too was decimated.
"Again, two centuries ago, the inexorable hand which leads
me through the world brought me once more hither; and then,
as the time before, the plague, which the Almighty attaches to
my steps, again ravaged this city, and fell first on my brethren,
already worn out with labor and misery.
(


## p. 14198 (#388) ##########################################

14198
EUGÈNE SUE
-
(
«My brethren - mine! - the cobbler of Jerusalem, the artisan
accursed by the Lord, who in my person condemned the whole
race of workmen, ever suffering, ever disinherited, ever in slav-
ery, toiling on like me, without rest or pause, without recompense
or hope, till men, women, and children, young and old, all die
beneath the same iron yoke, - that murderous yoke, which others
take in their turn, thus to be borne from age to age on the sub-
missive and bruised shoulders of the masses.
"And now, for the third time in five centuries, I reach the
summit of one of the hills that overlook the city. And perhaps
I again bring with me fear, desolation, and death.
« Yet this city, intoxicated with the sounds of its joys and its
nocturnal revelries, does not know — oh! does not know that I
am at its gates.
“But no, no! my presence will not be a new calamity. The
Lord, in his impenetrable views, has hitherto led me through
France so as to avoid the humblest hamlet; and the sound of
the funeral knell has not accompanied my passage.
"And moreover, the spectre has left me the green, livid
spectre, with its hollow bloodshot eyes. When I touched the soil
I
of France, its damp and icy hand was no longer clasped in mine
and it disappeared.
"And yet I feel that the atmosphere of death is around me.
“The sharp whistlings of that fatal wind cease not, which,
catching me in their whirl, seem to propagate blasting and mil.
dew as they blow.
“But perhaps the wrath of the Lord is appeased, and my pres.
ence here is only a threat — to be communicated in some way to
those whom it should intimidate.
Yes; for otherwise he would smite with a fearful blow, by
first scattering terror and death here in the heart of the country,
in the bosom of this immense city!
“Oh! no, no! the Lord will be merciful. No! he will not
condemn me to this new torture.
“Alas! in this city, my brethren
numerous and
miserable than elsewhere. And should I be their messenger of
death?
“No! the Lord will have pity. For, alas! the seven descend-
ants of my sister have at length met in this town. And to them
likewise should I be the messenger of death, instead of the help
they so much need ?
C
are
more


## p. 14199 (#389) ##########################################

EUGÈNE SUE
14199
(
-
(c
For that woman, who like me wanders from one border
of the earth to the other, after having once more rent asunder
the nets of their enemies, has gone forth upon her endless jour-
ney.
“In vain she foresaw that new misfortunes threatened
my
sister's family. The invisible hand that drives me on, drives her
on also.
Carried away, as of old, by the irresistible whirlwind, at the
moment of leaving my kindred to their fate, she in vain cried
with supplicating tone: Let me at least, O Lord, complete my
task! ' -'Go on! '- A few days, in mercy, only a few poor
days! '-'Go on! '- I leave those I love on the brink of the
abyss! ' -'Go on! Go on!
"And the wandering star again started on its eternal round.
And her voice, passing through space, called me to the assistance
of my own.
“When that voice reached me, I knew that the descendants of
my sister were still exposed to frightful perils. Those perils are
even now on the increase.
“Tell me, O Lord! will they escape the scourge which for so
many centuries has weighed down our race?
Wilt thou pardon me in them ? wilt thou punish me in them?
Oh that they might obey the last will of their ancestor!
“Oh that they might join together their charitable hearts,
their valor and their strength, their noble intelligence, and their
great riches!
« They would then labor for the future happiness of humanity
- they would thus, perhaps, redeem me from my eternal punish-
ment!
«The words of the Son of Man, LoVE YE ONE ANOTHER,' will
be their only end, their only means.
« By the help of those all-powerful words they will fight and
conquer the false priests who have renounced the precepts of
love, peace, and hope, for lessons of hatred, violence, and despair;
those false priests who, kept in pay by the powerful and happy
of this world, their accomplices in every age, instead of asking
here below for some slight share of well-being for my unfortu-
nate brethren, dare in thy name, O Lord God, to assert that the
poor are condemned to endless suffering in this world, and that
the desire or the hope to suffer less is a crime in thine eyes, -


## p. 14200 (#390) ##########################################

14200
EUGÈNE SUE
asso-
because the happiness of the few, and the misery of nearly the
whole human race, is (oh, blasphemy! ) according to thy will.
Is not the very contrary of those murderous words alone worthy
of Divinity!
“In mercy, hear me, Lord! Rescue from their enemies the
descendants of my sister — the artisan as the king's son. Do not
let them destroy the germ of so mighty and fruitful an
ciation, which, with thy blessing, would make an epoch in the
annals of human happiness!
“Let me unite them, O Lord, since others would divide them;
defend them, since others attack: let me give hope to those
who have ceased to hope, courage to those who are brought low
with fear; let me raise up the falling, and sustain those who
persevere in the way of the righteous!
"And peradventure their struggles, devotion, virtue, and grief
may expiate my fault — that of a man whom misfortune alone
rendered unjust and wicked.
"Oh! since thy Almighty hand hath led me hither,- to what
end I know not, - lay aside thy wrath, I beseech thee; let me be
no longer the instrument of thy vengeance!
Enough of woe upon the earth! for the last two years, thy
creatures have fallen by thousands upon my track. The world
is decimated. A veil of mourning extends over all the globe.
«From Asia to the icy Pole, they died upon the path of the
wanderer. Dost thou not hear the long-drawn sigh that rises
from the earth unto thee, O Lord ?
“Mercy for all! mercy for me! Let me but unite the de-
scendants of my sister for a single day, and they will be saved! ”
As he pronounced these words, the wayfarer sank upon his
knees, and raised to heaven his supplicating hands. Suddenly
the wind blew with redoubled violence; its sharp whistlings were
changed into the roar of a tempest.
The traveler shuddered; in a voice of terror he exclaimed:-
“The blast of death rises in its fury — the whirlwind carries
Lord! thou art then deaf to my prayer ?
“The spectre! oh, the spectre! it is again here! its green
face twitching with convulsive spasms — its red eyes rolling in
their orbits. Begone! begone! - its hand, oh! its icy hand has
again laid hold of mine.
Have mercy, heaven! » — "Go on! »
me on.
((


## p. 14201 (#391) ##########################################

EUGÈNE SUE
14201
-
“O Lord! the pestilence — the terrible plague — must I carry
it into this city? And my brethren will perish the first — they,
who are so sorely smitten even now! Mercy! ” “Go on! ”
"And the descendants of my sister. Mercy! Mercy! ” – "Go
ON! »
"O Lord, have pity! —I can no longer keep my ground;
the spectre drags me to the slope of the hill; my walk is rapid
as the deadly blast that rages behind me; already do I behold
the city gates. Have mercy, Lord, on the descendants of my
sister! Spare them; do not make me their executioner; let them
triumph over their enemies ! ” –“Go on! Go on! »
« The ground flies beneath my feet; there is the city gate.
Lord, it is yet time! Oh, mercy for that sleeping town! Let it
not waken to cries of terror, despair, and death! Lord, I am on
the threshold. Must it be? - Yes, it is done. Paris, the plague
is in thy bosom. The curse – oh, the eternal curse! ” Go on!
Go on! Go on! »


## p. 14202 (#392) ##########################################

14202
SUETONIUS
(EARLY PART OF SECOND CENTURY A. D. )
are
AIUS SUETONIUS TRANQUILLUS passed his manhood under Tra-
jan and Hadrian, and so was contemporary with the younger
Pliny and with Tacitus. As private secretary to the Empe-
ror Hadrian, he probably had access to State archives if he chose to
consult them; and heard the traditional stories of court life, which,
though mostly inaccurate, indicated vividly the character and life of
the early Cæsars. Where Tacitus is lost, Suetonius becomes our chief
authority for the Lives of the Cæsars,' from Julius to Domitian.
The first six much the more fully
treated; whether because as he approached
his own time he wearied of his task, found
less alien material ready to be appropriated,
or felt the ground less secure beneath him.
Suetonius is a writer quite devoid of
earnest purpose, dignity, or literary charm.
He is usually clear and straightforward
enough in style. His warmest interest is
excited by a scandalous bit of gossip. He
makes little effort at chronological treat-
ment of public events. Altogether, he is
an author whom historians must know and
SUETONIUS use, and whom even the general reader will
find sufficiently interesting; but we can take
no pride in our enjoyment of his ignoble recitals, and must hope
that the rather vivid general picture he draws is essentially untrue.
Modern recorders of life in royal palaces would at least feel impelled
to use the darker tints less constantly.
In meagre and fragmentary form we have also from Suetonius
several lives of literary men, notably those of Horace and Terence.
The biography of Pliny the Younger is pronounced spurious: a pity,
because our pleasantest glimpses of the man Suetonius are obtained
from the courtly letter-writer. In particular, Pliny writes Trajan that
his friend is an upright and learned gentleman, whom folk often
desire to remember in their wills. ” As a childless married man, Sue-
tonius cannot legally receive such legacies, unless a special dispensa-
tion shall accord him the rights properly reserved for the fathers of
three children. This favor the Emperor, it appears, readily granted.



## p. 14203 (#393) ##########################################

SUETONIUS
14203
The best literary edition of Suetonius is that with Latin notes in
the Lemaire collection (Paris, 1828). The lives of Julius and Augus-
tus are edited with full commentary by Professor H. T. Peck (New
York, 2d ed. , 1893). The most recent translation is by Thomson and
Forester (London, 1881).
CALIGULA'S MADNESS
H
E USED also to complain aloud of the state of the times, because
it was not rendered remarkable by any public calamities;
for while the reign of Augustus had been made memorable
to posterity by the disaster of Varus, and that of Tiberius by the
fall of the theatre at Fidenæ, his was likely to pass into obliv-
ion, from an uninterrupted series of prosperity. And at times he
wished for some terrible slaughter of his troops, a famine, a pes-
,
tilence, conflagrations, or an earthquake.
Even in the midst of his diversions, while gaming or feasting,
this savage ferocity, both in his language and actions, never for-
sook him. Persons were often put to the torture in his presence,
whilst he was dining or carousing. A soldier who was an adept
in the art of beheading used at such times to take off the heads
of prisoners, who were brought in for that purpose.
At Pute-
oli, at the dedication of the bridge which he planned, as already
mentioned, he invited a number of people to come to him from
the shore, and then suddenly threw them headlong into the sea;
thrusting down with poles and oars those who, to save them-
selves, had got hold of the rudders of the ships. At Rome, in
a public feast, a slave having stolen some thin plates of silver
with which the couches were inlaid, he delivered him immedi-
ately to an executioner, with orders to cut off his hands, and lead
him round the guests with them hanging from his neck before
his breast, and a label, signifying the cause of his punishment.
A gladiator who was practicing with him, and voluntarily threw
himself at his feet, he stabbed with a poniard, and then ran
about with a palm branch in his hand, after the manner of those
who are victorious in the games. When a victim was to be
offered upon an altar, he, clad in the habit of the Popæ, and
holding the axe aloft for a while, at last slaughtered, instead of
the animal, an officer who attended to cut up the sacrifice. And
at a sumptuous entertainment he fell suddenly into a violent fit
of laughter; and upon the consuls who reclined next to him


## p. 14204 (#394) ##########################################

14204
SUETONIUS
»
respectfully asking him the occasion,– "Nothing,” replied he,
“but that upon a single nod of mine you might both have your
throats cut. ”
Among many other jests, this was one: As he stood by the
statue of Jupiter, he asked Apelles the tragedian which of them
he thought was biggest ? Upon his demurring about it, he lashed
him most severely; now and then commending his voice, whilst
he entreated for mercy, as being well modulated even when he
was venting his grief. As often as he kissed the neck of his
wife or mistress, he would say, “So beautiful a throat must be
cut whenever I please; ” and now and then he would threaten
to put his dear Cæsonia to the torture, that he might discover
why he loved her so passionately.
In his behavior towards men of almost all ages, he discovered
a degree of jealousy and malignity equal to that of his cruelty
and pride. He so demolished and dispersed the statues of sev-
eral illustrious persons,— which had been removed by Augustus,
for want of room, from the court of the Capitol into the Campus
Martius, – that it was impossible to set them up again with their
inscriptions entire. And for the future, he forbade any statue
whatever to be erected without his knowledge and leave. He
had thoughts too of suppressing Homer's poems; for “Why,"
,
said he, “may not I do what Plato has done before me, who
excluded him from his commonwealth ? ” He was likewise very
near banishing the writings and the busts of Virgil and Livy
from all libraries: censuring one of them as "a man of no gen-
ius and very little learning, and the other as a verbose and
careless historian. ” He often talked of the lawyers as if he
intended to abolish their profession. By Hercules! ” he would
say, “I shall put it out of their power to answer any legal ques-
tions otherwise than by referring to me! ”
He took from the noblest persons in the city the ancient marks
of distinction used by their families: as the collar from Torqua-
tus; from Cincinnatus the curl of hair; and from Cneius Pompey
the surname of Great, belonging to that ancient family. Ptolemy,
mentioned before, whom he invited from his kingdom, and re-
ceived with great honors, he suddenly put to death; for no other
reason but because he observed that upon entering the theatre,
at a public exhibition, he attracted the eyes of all the spectators
by the splendor of his purple robe. As often as he met with
handsome men who had fine heads of hair, he would order the


## p. 14205 (#395) ##########################################

SUETONIUS
14205
back of their heads to be shaved, to make them appear ridicu-
lous. There was one Esius Proculus, the son of a centurion of
the first rank, who, for his great stature and fine proportions, was
called the Colossal. Him he ordered to be dragged from his seat
in the arena, and matched with a gladiator in light armor, and
afterwards with another completely armed; and upon his worst-
ing them both, commanded him forthwith to be bound, to be led
clothed in rags up and down the streets of the city, and after
being exhibited in that plight to the women, to be then butchered.
There was no man of so abject or mean condition, whose excel-
lency in any kind he did not envy.
COWARDICE AND DEATH OF NERO
OM
N THE arrival of the news that the rest of the armies had
declared against him, he tore to pieces the letters which
were delivered to him at dinner, overthrew the table,
and dashed with violence against the ground two favorite cups,
which he called Homer's because some of that poet's verses
were cut upon them. Then taking from Locusta a dose of poi-
son, which he put up in a golden box, he went into the Servilian
gardens: and thence dispatching a trusty freedman to Ostia, with
orders to make ready a fleet, he endeavored to prevail with some
tribunes and centurions of the prætorian guards to attend him
in his flight; but part of them showing no great inclination to
comply, others absolutely refusing, and one of them crying out
aloud, -
“Usque adeone mori miserum est ? »
[Say, is it then so sad a thing to die? ]
he was in great perplexity whether he should submit himself to
Galba, or apply to the Parthians for protection, or else appear
before the people dressed in mourning, and upon the rostra, in
the most piteous manner, beg pardon for his past misdemeanors,
and if he could not prevail, request of them to grant him at least
the government of Egypt. A speech to this purpose was after-
wards found in his writing-case. But it is conjectured that he
durst not venture upon this project, for fear of being torn to
pieces before he could get to the forum. Deferring therefore
his resolution until the next day, he awoke about midnight, and
finding the guards withdrawn, he leaped out of bed, and sent


## p. 14206 (#396) ##########################################

14206
SUETONIUS
sage in
.
round for his friends. But none of them vouchsafing any mes-
reply, he went with a few attendants to their houses.
The doors being everywhere shut, and no one giving him any
answer, he returned to his bed-chamber, whence those who had
the charge of it had all now eloped; some having gone one way
and some another, carrying off with them his bedding and box
of poison. He then endeavored to find Spicillus the gladiator,
or some one, to kill him; but not being able to procure any one,
« What! ” said he, have I then neither friend nor foe? ” and im-
mediately ran out, as if he would throw himself into the Tiber.
But this furious impulse subsiding, he wished for some place
of privacy, where he might collect his thoughts; and his freed-
man Phaon offering him his country-house, between the Salarian
and Nomentan roads, about four miles from the city, he mounted
a horse, barefoot as he was and in his tunic, only slipping over
it an old soiled cloak; with his head muffled up, and a handker-
chief before his face, and four persons only to attend him, of
whom Sporus was one. He was suddenly struck with horror
by an earthquake, and by a flash of lightning which darted full
in his face; and heard from the neighboring camp the shouts of
the soldiers, wishing his destruction, and prosperity to Galba. He
also heard a traveler they met on the road say, “They are in
pursuit of Nero;” and another ask, “Is there any news in the
city about Nero ? » Uncovering his face when his horse was
started by the scent of a carcass which lay in the road, he was
recognized and saluted by an old soldier who had been discharged
from the guards. When they came to the lane which turned up
to the house, they quitted their horses, and with much difficulty
he wound among bushes and briers, and along a track through a
bed of rushes, over which they spread their cloaks for him to
walk on. Having reached a wall at the back of the villa, Phaon
advised him to hide himself awhile in a sand-pit; when he re-
plied, "I will not go underground alive. ” Staying there some
little time, while preparations were made for bringing him pri-
vately into the villa, he took up in his hand some water out of
a neighboring tank, to drink, saying, “This is Nero's distilled
water. ” Then, his cloak having been torn by the brambles, he
pulled out the thorns which stuck in it. At last, being admitted,
creeping upon his hands and knees through a hole made for him
in the wall, he lay down in the first closet he came to, upon a
miserable pallet, with an old coverlet thrown over it; and being
((


## p. 14207 (#397) ##########################################

SUETONIUS
14207
>
both hungry and thirsty, though he refused some coarse bread
that was brought him, he drank a little warm water.
All who surrounded him now pressing him to save himself
from the indignities which were ready to befall him, he ordered
a pit to be sunk before his eyes, of the size of his body, and the
bottom to be covered with pieces of marble put together, if any
could be found about the house; and water and wood to be got
ready for immediate use about his corpse: weeping at everything
that was done, and frequently saying, "What an artist is now
about to perish! ” Meanwhile, letters being brought in by a sery-
ant belonging to Phaon, he snatched them out of his hand and
there read, “That he had been declared an enemy by the Senate;
and that search was making for him, that he might be pun-
ished according to the ancient custom of the Romans. ” He then
inquired what kind of punishment that was; and being told that
the practice was to strip the criminal naked and scourge him to
death, while his neck was fastened within a forked stake, he was
so terrified that he took up two daggers which he had brought
with him, and after feeling the points of both, put them up again,
saying, “The fatal hour has not yet come. ” One while, he begged
of Sporus to begin to wail and lament; another while, he en-
treated that one of them would set him an example by killing
himself; and then again, he condemned his own want of resolu-
tion in these words: “I yet live, to my shame and disgrace: this
is not becoming for Nero; it is not becoming. · Thou oughtest
in such circumstances to have a good heart. Come then; cour-
age, man!
The horsemen who had received orders to bring
him away alive, were now approaching the house.
As soon
he heard them coming, he uttered with a trembling voice the fol-
lowing verse:-
“Ιππων μ' ωκυπόδων αμφί χτύπος ουατα βάλλει:
(The noise of swift-heeled steeds assails my ears;)
>
as
he then drove a dagger into his throat, being assisted in the act
by his secretary Epaphroditus. A centurion bursting in just as
he was dying, and applying his cloak to the wound, pretending
that he was come to his assistance, he made no other reply but
this: «'Tis too late,” and “Is this your loyalty ? ) Immediately
»
after pronouncing these words he expired, with his eyes fixed
and starting out of his head, to the terror of all who beheld him.


## p. 14208 (#398) ##########################################

14208
SUETONIUS
VITELLIUS
E
H
(
>
WAS chiefly addicted to the vices of luxury and cruelty.
He always made three meals a day, sometimes four; break-
fast, dinner, and supper, and a drunken revel after all.
For these several meals he would make different ap-
pointments at the houses of his friends, on the same day. None
ever entertained him at less expense than 400,000 sesterces Cover
$20,000). The most famous was a set entertainment given him
by his brother, at which, it is said, there were served up no less
than two thousand choice fishes and seven thousand birds.
Yet
even this supper he himself outdid, at a feast he gave on the
first use of a dish which had been made for him, and which
for its extraordinary size he called “The Shield of Minerva. ”
In this dish were tossed up together the livers of char-fish, the
brains of pheasants and peacocks, the tongues of flamingoes, and
the entrails of lampreys, which had been brought in ships of
war as far as from the Carpathian Sea and the Spanish Straits.
He was not only a man of insatiable appetite, but would gratify
it at the most unseasonable times, and with any garbage that
came in his way.
He delighted in the infliction of punishments, even capital
ones, without any distinction of persons or occasions. Several
noblemen, his schoolfellows and companions, invited by him to
court, he treated with such flattering caresses as seemed to indi-
cate an affection short only of admitting them to share the hon-
ors of the imperial dignity; yet he put them all to death by
some base means or other. To one he gave poison with his own
hand, in a cup of cold water which he called for in a fever.
He scarcely spared one of all the usurers, notaries, and publicans
who had ever demanded a debt of him at Rome, or any toll
or custom on the road. One of these, while in the very act of
saluting him, he ordered for execution, but immediately sent for
him back; upon which all about him applauding his clemency,
he commanded him to be slain in his own presence, saying, "I
have a mind to feed my eyes. ” Two sons who interceded for
their father, he ordered to be executed with him. A Roman
knight, upon his being dragged away for execution, and crying
out to him, “You are my heir,” he desired to produce his will;
and finding that he had made his freedman joint heir with him,
he commanded that both he and the freedman should have their
throats cut.


## p. 14209 (#399) ##########################################

14209
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
(RENÉ FRANÇOIS ARMAND PRUDHOMME)
(1839-)
BY FIRMIN ROZ
ULLY-PRUDHOMME, born in Paris, May 16th, 1839, is the poet
who best represents the last third of the century. But he
represents it as a poet; that is, in beauty and in noble-
ness, in its most intimate aspirations, in its purest sorrows, in its
most beautiful impulses.
The spirit so freely poured out in romantic lyricism seemed, after
an enchanted rest in the picturesque poetry
of Théophile Gautier and the fancy of Théo-
dore de Banville, to reawaken and come to
itself again. After the period during which
it found the fullest expression, and that
during which it had seemed to forget its
own existence, behold it meditating in the
midst of tumult, and seeking illumination
to guide its way henceforth more prudently.
Leconte de Lisle examines the history of
the beliefs of humanity, and sets forth the
different forms of the Divine dream and
of the conception of life, in the Poèmes SULLY-PRUDHOMME
Antiques) (1853) and the 'Poèmes Barbares)
(1859); which made him, in the absence of Victor Hugo, then in
exile, the acknowledged master of French poetry. Around him are
grouped the poets who were soon to take the name of «Parnassians,"
after the publication of their verses by the publisher Lemerre in
the collection Parnasse Contemporain? (1866). Sully-Prudhomme,
younger by twenty years, came by another way. A very tender
sensibility was united in him to very serious reflection. His educa-
tion had favored these natural tendencies. Reared by a mother in
mourning, who was never consoled for the death of an adored hus-
band,- for whom she had waited ten years, and whom she lost after
four years of marriage, - the child had been placed in school very
young, and had already suffered from “the first loneliness. ) Later,
preparation for the École Polytechnique had developed in him a taste
XXIV—889

-


## p. 14210 (#400) ##########################################

14210
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
for the sciences, and had revealed to him the secrets of their exact
methods. A malady of the eyes obliged him to abandon his studies
just as they were about to be crowned with success. But his mind
retained their impress. The deepest feeling and the most scrupulous
thinking henceforth shared his inspiration; or to express it better,
mingled in and imbued an original poetry which is both analytic and
living, scholarly and emotional. Now sentiment dominates, illumi-
nated by a ray of careful thought (see L'Agonie,' which we cite);
now it is the idea developed, but colored, warmed, penetrated, by
feeling. Such are the delightful collections of the first fifteen years:
(Stances et Poèmes) (1865), "Les Épreuves) (The Tests: 1866), "Les
Solitudes) (1869), “Les Vrais Tendresses' (The True Affections: '1875).
But the philosophical thinking of Sully-Prudhomme did not find
satisfaction in the close analyses or penetrating intuitions which these
poems translated. The conflict of reason and the heart, which is the
drama of our time, tortured the poet. He resolved to consecrate to
it his dearest vigils. From this noble effort two grand philosophi-
cal poems resulted: (La Justice and Le Bonheur' (1888). Doubt-
less philosophic poetry already existed in our literature: Jocelyn'
and the Chute d'un Ange,' some parts of the Contemplation,'
(Eloa, Moise,' and Les Destinées,' are masterpieces. But Sully-
Prudhomme has done something different. For imaginative dreams
of philosophy he has substituted methodical investigation; slow,
prudent, but always anxious, and hence worthy of poetry. And his
ambition has been precisely to reconcile poetry with scientific re-
search, In order to adapt himself to the difficulties of this task,-
“to demand from the strongest and most exact of poets the secret of
subjecting the verse to the idea,” — he began by translating verse by
verse, with rigorous exactness and without altering its strong beauty,
the first book of Lucretius. Then he began upon his great poem,
"La Justice. This poem, very symmetrical in composition, comprises
eleven "vigils,” preceded by a prologue and followed by an epilogue.
After seeking justice in the universe without finding it, the poet dis-
covers it at last in the heart of man, which is its inviolable and
sacred temple. The first six vigils form the first part of the volume
(Silence au Cour' (Heart, Be Silent); the last five are grouped
in a second part entitled Appel au Cour' (Appeal to the Heart).
Each vigil is a dialogue between “The Seeker,” who pitilessly analyzes
every idea or every fact in a sonnet, and "A Voice,” which consoles
and reassures him by revealing the divine aspect of all things.
Le Bonheur? (Happiness) is a symbolic epic. Faustus and Stella,
set free from earth, seek the happiness which they had vainly pur-
sued here below. Neither emotional Intoxication” « Thought”
can realize this ideal so imperiously claimed by all hearts. The third
nor


## p. 14211 (#401) ##########################################

SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14211
part, Le Suprême Essor (The Supreme Flight), shows us that sacri-
fice alone can elevate us to a true felicity.
Doubtless there are laborious verses in these two long-winded
works, in which Sully-Prudhomme has attempted the difficult recon-
ciliation of pure thought with poetry. But there are incomparable
beauties, truly new. Never has philosophic poetry been more rigor-
ous, while retaining more of beauty; never has the fusion been so
close between the thought, the sentiment, and the image.
Sully-Prudhomme has published in prose a remarkable study in
æsthetics, 'L'Expression dans les Beaux-Arts? (Expression in the Fine
Arts: 1884); "Réflexions sur l'Art des Vers' (Reflections on the Art of
Versification: 1892); and a philosophical volume (1895) on the nature,
the limitations, and the extent of our learning, Que Sais-je ? (What
Do I Know ? ) His translation of the first book of Lucretius contains
a long preface Upon the state and the future of philosophy. ”
Firmin
Roz
TO THE READER
THESE
HESE flowers I gathered by the highway side,
Where good and evil fate has cast my days:
I dare not give them to you loosely tied;
I'll twine them in a wreath — to win more praise.
Still fresh, the rose is weeping tear on tear;
The pansy lifts her eye of purple hue;
Then the calm lilies, dreamers of the mere,
And budding corn; - and there my life lies too.
And thine too, reader, - is't not even so ?
One fate is always ours in joy or woe,-
To weep love's tears, and think, but never know,
How we have lost in dreaming spring's best day.
.
Then comes the hour when we would rise from play,
And plant some seed before we pass away.


## p. 14212 (#402) ##########################################

14212
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
UNKNOWN FRIENDS
NE line
One Re-ope the wound whose smart is not forgot
;
The word that doth another's sufferings tell
May drop like tears on our own anguished spot,
Where heart misjudged awaits its soothing spell.
My verse, perchance, may reach you and restore,
With lightning flash, the sleeping grief of old;
Or by that one true word — long waited for
The sudden name of all you feel unfold,
Nor tell the eyes from whom I learnt my lore.
THE MISSAL
A
MISSAL of the first King Francis's reign,
Rusted by years, with many a yellow stain,
And blazons worn, by pious fingers prest,-
Within whose leaves, enshrined in silver rare
By some old goldsmith's art in glory drest,
Speaking his boldness and his loving care,
This faded flower found rest.
How very old it is! you plainly mark
Upon the page its sap in tracery dark.
« Perhaps three hundred years ? » What need be said ?
It has but lost one shade of crimson dye;
Before its death it might have seen that flown:
Needs naught save wing of wandering butterfly
To touch the bloom
-'tis gone.
It has not lost one fibre from its heart,
Nor seen one jewel from its crown depart;
The page still wrinkles where the dew once dried,
When that last morn was sad with other weeping;
Death would not kill, - only to kiss it tried,
In loving guise above its brightness creeping,
Nor blighted as it died.
A sweet but mournful scent is o'er me stealing,
As when with memory wakes long-buried feeling;
That scent from the closed casket slow ascending
Tells of long years o'er that strange herbal sped.


## p. 14213 (#403) ##########################################

SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14213
Our bygone things have still some perfume blending,
And our lost loves are paths, where roses' bloom,
Sweet e'en in death, is shed.
At eve, when faint and sombre grows the air,
Perchance a lambent heart may flicker there,
Seeking an entrance to the book to find;
And when the Angelus strikes on the sky,
Praying some hand may that one page unbind,
Where all his love and homage lie, —
The flower that told his mind.
Take comfort, knight, who rode to Pavia's plain
But ne'er returned to woo your love again;
Or you, young page, whose heart rose up on high
To Mary and thy dame in mingled prayer!
This flower which died beneath some unknown eye
Three hundred years ago,- you placed it there,
And there it still shall lie.
LA CHARPIE
A
SOMBRE night, a starless sky!
Jeanne sits, her heart with weeping sore,
The cloth unwinding patiently
For soldiers wounded in the war.
Her lover to the war is gone:
His kiss yet fresh — 'twas but to-day:
Her brothers too! She sits alone:
They marched with him this morn away.
Now booms more closely on her ears
The cannon's summons, stern and loud,
“Surrender! Famine! ” Then she hears
Her City's “No” in answer proud.
Her holy task at last is o'er;
Has it not brought her spirit rest?
When suddenly her humble door
By timid hand is softly pressed.
A stranger girl is standing there
Within the door, her eyes as blue


## p. 14214 (#404) ##########################################

14214
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
As heaven, her features pale, her hair
Of gold, her dress of sombre hue.
And these her words:-Jeanne, have no fear,
The red cross on my arm I show;
My name and all that brings me here -
Oh, let me in ! - you soon shall know.
“At home they call me Margaret;
I've wandered from the banks of Rhine
For him on whom my heart is set:
Oh, let me in! Your grief is mine;
“By the same fears our hearts are torn;
Oh, by our youth, our love, our pain,
We're sisters now! leave hate and scorn
For deadly fight on yonder plain.
Together we'll our charpie weave:
For blood knows naught of colors two;
Those grow alike who love and grieve:
We'll weep together, I and you! ”
She, ere the words had left her lips,
The charpie threads asunder tore,
Working with trembling finger-tips
For soldiers wounded in the war.
ENFANTILLAGE
M"
Y LADY! you were little then:
Twelve years were mine;
Soon forgotten were your lovers,
All left to pine.
When we played among the others,
You still I sought;
When small hands were intertwining,
'Twas yours I caught.
As in gold and purple glory,
Poised o'er the rose,
Tells the butterfly his story,
All his heart glows;


## p. 14215 (#405) ##########################################

SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14215
Leaf by leaf, still nearer drawing,
Is yet too shy
All the honey-dew to gather
She holds so nigh:
So my heart was yearning wildly
Your lips to press;
'Twas your slender fingers only
I dared caress.
Through me thrilled a sudden rapture,
Then keen as woe:
What gave joy and pain such meeting ?
Love – long ago.
Twelve years only — and a lover!
'Tis not common.
You too, Lady — were you feeling
Like a woman ?
Did there come some thought bewildering
As, half afraid,
With your frock and with your dolly
You stood and played ?
-
If I praised too soon a poet –
Your tiny feet,
Too soon fair, you leant and touched me
With magic sweet.
I at least have ne'er forgotten
That even-tide
When we set up house together,-
Bridegroom and bride.
Gems you dreamed of;—I dreamed over
My vow to you!
Both were older than our years were,
Both different too!
We played at the dance and dinner:
You wished it so,-
Said that proper weddings must have
Some pomp and show.
You enjoyed it as a pastime,–
I thought it true,


## p. 14216 (#406) ##########################################

14216
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
Told my love aloud, and whispered
« Dearest to you.
On your cheek I ventured, dreaming,
One kiss to leave.
Play for me has all been over
Since that spring eve.
AU BORD DE L'EAU
Tºs
sit and watch the wavelets as they flow,
Two,-side by side ;
To see the gliding clouds that come and go,
And mark them glide;
If from low roofs the smoke is wreathing pale,
To watch it wreathe;
If flowers around breathe perfume on the gale,
To feel them breathe;
If the bee sips the honeyed fruit that glistens,
To sip the dew;
If the bird warbles while the forest listens,
To listen too;
Beneath the willow where the brook is singing,
To hear its song;
Nor feel, while round us that sweet dream is clinging,
The hours too long;
To know one only deep o'ermastering passion, -
The love we share;
To let the world go worrying in its fashion
Without one care —
We only, while around all weary grow,
Unwearied stand,
And midst the fickle changes others know,
Love - hand in hand.


## p. 14217 (#407) ##########################################

SULLY-PRUDHOMME
14217
CE QUI DURE
HO
ow cold and wan the present lowers,
O my true Love! around us twain;
How little of the Past is ours !
How changed the friends who yet remain.
We cannot without envying view
The eyes with twenty summers gay;
For eyes 'neath which our childhood grew
Have long since passed from earth away.
Each hour still steals our youth; alas!
No hour will e'er the theft restore:
There's but one thing that will not pass,-
The heart I loved thee with of yore.
That heart which plays in life its part,
With love elate, with loss forlorn,
Is still — through all — the child's pure heart
My mother gave when I was born.
That heart, where nothing new can light,
Where old thoughts draw their cherished breath,-
It loves thee, dear, with all the might
That Life can wield in strife with Death.
If it of Death the conqueror be,
If there's in Man some nobler part
That wins him immortality,
Then thou hast, Love! that deathless heart.
IF YOU BUT KNEW
I
F YOU but knew the tears that fall
For life unloved and fireside drear,
Perhaps, before my lonely hall,
You would pass near.
If you but knew your power to thrill
My drooping soul by one pure glance,
One look across my window-sill
You'd cast perchance.


## p. 14218 (#408) ##########################################

14218
SULLY-PRUDHOMME
If you but knew what soothing balm
One heart can on another pour,
Would you not sit - a sister calm
Beside my door ?
And if you knew I loved you well,
And loved you too with all my heart,
You'd come to me, with me to dwell,
And ne'er depart.
SEPARATION
W"
E WANDERED down, at dawn of day,
A narrow path — heart close to heart;
At noon, upon the world's highway,
I walk to right, you left - apart.
No more we have our heaven together.
How bright is yours! How black is mine!
Your choice is still the sunniest weather,
I keep the side where naught will shine.