Part 28

_Gipsy Mother_--She wants no one to provide for her, my London Caloró: she can at any time provide for herself and her _ro_. She can _hokkawar_, tell _baji_, and there are few to equal her at stealing _à pastesas_. Were she once at Madrilati, where they tell me you are going, she would make much treasure; therefore take her thither, for in this _foros_ she is _nahi_, as it were, for there is nothing to be gained: but in the _foros baro_ it would be another matter; she would go dressed in _lachipé_ and _sonacai_, whilst you would ride about on your black-tailed _gra_; and when you had got much treasure, you might return hither and live like a Crallis, and all the Errate of the Chim del Manró should bow down their heads to you. What say you, my London Caloró; what say you to my plan?

_Myself_--Your plan is a plausible one, mother, or at least some people would think so; but I am, as you are aware, of another _chim_, and have no inclination to pass my life in this country.

_Gipsy Mother_--Then return to your own country, my Caloró; the _chabí_ can cross the _paní_. Would she not do business in London with the rest of the Caloré? Or why not go to the land of the Corahai? In which case I would accompany you; I and my daughter, the mother of the _chabí_.

_Myself_--And what should we do in the land of the Corahai? It is a poor and wild country, I believe.

_Gipsy Mother_--The London Caloró asks me what we could do in the land of the Corahai! _Aromali_! I almost think that I am speaking to a _lilipendi_. Are there not horses to _chore?_ Yes, I trow there are, and better ones than in this land, and asses, and mules. In the land of the Corahai you must _hokkawar_ and _chore_ even as you must here, or in your own country, or else you are no Caloró. Can you not join yourselves with the black people who live in the _despoblados_? Yes, surely; and glad they would be to have among them the Errate from Spain and London. I am seventy years of age, but I wish not to die in this _chim_, but yonder, far away, where both my _roms_ are sleeping. Take the _chabí_, therefore, and go to Madrilati to win the _parné_; and when you have got it, return, and we will give a banquet to all the Busné in Merida, and in their food I will mix _drao_, and they shall eat and burst like poisoned sheep.... And when they have eaten we will leave them, and away to the land of the Moor, my London Caloró.

During the whole time that I remained at Merida I stirred not once from the house; following the advice of Antonio, who informed me that it would not be convenient. My time lay rather heavily on my hands, my only source of amusement consisting in the conversation of the women, and in that of Antonio when he made his appearance at night. In these _tertulias_ the grandmother was the principal spokeswoman, and astonished my ears with wonderful tales of the land of the Moors, prison escapes, thievish feats, and one or two poisoning adventures, in which she had been engaged, as she informed me, in her early youth.

There was occasionally something very wild in her gestures, and demeanor; more than once I observed her, in the midst of much declamation, to stop short, stare in vacancy, and thrust out her palms as if endeavoring to push away some invisible substance; she goggled frightfully with her eyes, and once sank back in convulsions, of which her children took no further notice than observing that she was only _lili_, and would soon come to herself.

JUAN BOSCAN

(1493-?1540)

The reign of Juan the Second of Spain (1406-1454), characterized as it was by a succession of conspiracies and internal commotions, represents also one of the most important epochs in the history of Spanish poetry, which up to that period had found expression almost exclusively in the crude though spirited historical and romantic ballads of anonymous origin: Iliads without a Homer, as Lope de Vega called them. The first to attempt a reform in Castilian verse was the Marquis of Villena (died 1434), who introduced the allegory and a tendency to imitate classical models; and although he himself left nothing of consequence, his influence is plainly revealed in the works of his far greater pupils and successors, the Marquis of Santillana and Juan de Mena. Strangely enough, the reigns of Ferdinand and Isabella, and of the Austrian Charles the Fifth, covering the most brilliant and momentous period in Spanish history, are yet marked by comparative stagnation in letters until after the first quarter of the sixteenth century. During the greater part of this period the increasing pomp and formality of the court rendered the poetry correspondingly artificial and insincere. It was not in fact until after many years of constant intercourse with Rome, Naples, and Florence, while the bulk of the noble youth of Spain resorted to the universities of those cities for higher education, that a wide-spread and profound admiration for Italian culture and refinement began to pave the way for another and more important revolution in Castilian poetry than that inaugurated by Villena.

Juan Boscan Almogaver, who was the first of his nation to compose verses after the manner of Petrarch, and whose successors in the sixteenth century include some of the most brilliant and inspired lyrists of Spain, was born in 1493 at Barcelona, a city which had witnessed the recent triumphs of the Provencal Troubadours. Boscan, however, from the beginning of his career, preferred to write in Castilian rather than in the Limosin dialect. Of patrician descent, and possessed of ample means, he entered the army like the majority of the young nobles of his age. After a brief but honorable service as a soldier he traveled extensively abroad, which led to his becoming deeply interested in the literature and art of Italy. Meanwhile he had produced verses in the ancient lyric style, but with only a moderate measure of success.

The year 1526 found Boscan at Granada, where Andrea Navagiero, Ambassador from Venice to the Court of Charles the Fifth, was then in residence. A common love of letters drew the two young men into closest intimacy with each other. "Being with Navagiero there one day," says Boscan in his 'Letter to the Duquesa de Soma,' "and discoursing with him about matters of wit and letters, and especially about the different forms they take in different languages, he asked me why I did not make an experiment in Castilian of sonnets and the other forms of verse used by good Italian authors; and not only spoke to me of it thus slightly, but urged me to do it.... And thus I began to try this kind of verse. At first I found it somewhat difficult; for it is of a very artful construction, and in many particulars different from ours. But afterwards it seemed to me--perhaps from the love we naturally bear to what is our own--that I began to succeed very well; and so I went on little by little with increasing zeal." Little dreamed the Venetian diplomat that, owing to his friendly advice, a school was destined to arise shortly in the poetry of Spain which would by no means have ceased to exist after the lapse of nearly four centuries. From that day Boscan devoted himself to the exclusive composition of verses in the Italian measure, undeterred by the bitter opposition of the partisans of the old school. The incomparable Garcilaso de la Vega, then scarcely past his majority, warmly supported the innovation of his beloved friend, and soon far surpassed Boscan himself as a writer of sonnets and _canzones_.

The Barcelonese poet spent the remainder of his life in comparative retirement, although he appeared occasionally at court, and at one time superintended the education of the young Duke of Alva, whose name afterwards became one of such terror in the annals of the Netherlands. Boscan's death took place at Perpignan about 1540.

An edition of Boscan's poems, together with those of his friend Garcilaso, was published at Barcelona in 1543. The collection is divided into four books, three of which are devoted to the productions of the elder poet. The first consists of his early efforts in the old style, songs and ballads--'Canciones y Coplas.' The second and third books contain ninety-three sonnets and _canzones_; a long poem on Hero and Leander in blank verse; an elegy and two didactic epistles in terza rima, and a half-narrative, half-allegorical poem in one hundred and thirty-five octavo stanzas. The sonnets and _canzones_ are obvious imitations of Petrarch; yet at the same time they are stamped with a spirit essentially Spanish, and occasionally evince a deep passion and melody of their own, although they may lack the subtle fascination of their exquisite models. The 'Allegory,' with its cleverly contrasted courts of Love and Jealousy, suggests the airy, graceful humor of Ariosto, and is perhaps the most agreeable and original of all Boscan's works. The 'Epistle to Mendoza' is conceived in the manner of Horace, and amidst a fund of genial philosophic comment, contains a charming picture of the poet's domestic happiness. He also left a number of translations from the classics.

While in no sense a great poet, Boscan united simplicity, dignity, and classical taste in a remarkable degree; and, inclined as he seemed to entirely banish the ancient form of verse, he yet beyond question introduced a kind of poetry which was developed to a high degree of perfection in the Castilian tongue, and which may be studied with keen delight at this day in some of the noblest poetical monuments of Spanish literature.

The best modern edition of Boscan's works is published under the title of 'Las Obras de Juan Boscan' (Madrid, 1875).

ON THE DEATH OF GARCILASO

Tell me, dear Garcilaso,--thou Who ever aim'dst at Good, And in the spirit of thy vow, So swift her course pursued That thy few steps sufficed to place The angel in thy loved embrace, Won instant, soon as wooed,-- Why took'st thou not, when winged to flee From this dark world, Boscan with thee?

Why, when ascending to the star Where now thou sitt'st enshrined, Left'st thou thy weeping friend afar, Alas! so far behind? Oh, I do think, had it remained With thee to alter aught ordained By the Eternal Mind, Thou wouldst not on this desert spot Have left thy other self forgot!

For if through life thy love was such As still to take a pride In having me so oft and much Close to thy envied side,-- I cannot doubt, I must believe, Thou wouldst at least have taken leave Of me; or, if denied, Have come back afterwards, unblest Till I too shared thy heavenly rest.

Translation of Wipfen.

_DOMESTIC HAPPINESS_.

Photogravure from a Painting by Eugen Klimsch.

A PICTURE OF DOMESTIC HAPPINESS

From 'Epistle to Mendoza'

This peace that makes a happy life,-- And that is mine through my sweet wife; Beginning of my soul, and end, I've gained new being through this friend;-- She fills each thought and each desire, Up to the height I would aspire. This bliss is never found by ranging; Regret still springs from saddest changing; Such loves, and their beguiling pleasures, Are falser still than magic treasures, Which gleam at eve with golden color, And change to ashes ere the morrow.

But now each good that I possess, Rooted in truth and faithfulness, Imparts delight to every sense; For erst they were a mere pretense, And long before enjoyed they were, They changed their smiles to grisly care. Now pleasures please; love being single, Evils with its delights ne'er mingle.

* * * * *

And thus, by moderation bounded, I live by my own goods surrounded, Among my friends, my table spread With viands we may eat nor dread; And at my side my sweetest wife, Whose gentleness admits no strife,--

Except of jealousy the fear, Whose soft reproaches more endear; Our darling children round us gather,-- Children who will make me grandfather. And thus we pass in town our days, Till the confinement something weighs; Then to our village haunt we fly, Taking some pleasant company,-- While those we love not never come Anear our rustic, leafy home.

For better 'tis to philosophize, And learn a lesson truly wise From lowing herd and bleating flock, Than from some men of vulgar stock; And rustics, as they hold the plough, May often good advice bestow. Of love, too, we may have the joy: For Phoebus as a shepherd-boy Wandered once among the clover, Of some fair shepherdess the lover; And Venus wept, in rustic bower, Adonis turned to purple flower. And Bacchus 'midst the mountains drear Forgot the pangs of jealous fear;

And nymphs that in the water play ('Tis thus that ancient fables say), And Dryads fair among the trees, Fain the sprightly Fauns would please. So in their footsteps follow we,-- My wife and I,--as fond and free, Love in our thoughts and in our talk; Direct we slow our sauntering walk To some near murmuring rivulet, Where 'neath a shady beech we sit, Hand clasped in hand, and side by side,-- With some sweet kisses, too, beside,-- Contending there, in combat kind, Which best can love with constant mind.

* * * * *

Thus our village life we live, And day by day such joys receive; Till, to change the homely scene, Lest it pall while too serene, To the gay city we remove, Where other things there are to love; And graced by novelty, we find The city's concourse to our mind; While our new coming gives a joy Which ever staying might destroy. We spare all tedious compliment; Yet courtesy with kind intent, Which savage tongues alone abuse, Will often the same language use.

* * * * *

And Monleon, our dearest guest, Will raise our mirth by many a jest; For while his laughter rings again, Can we to echo it refrain? And other merriment is ours, To gild with joy the lightsome hours. But all too trivial would it look, Written down gravely in a book: And it is time to say adieu, Though more I have to write to you. Another letter this shall tell: So now, my dearest friend, farewell.

JACQUES BÉNIGNE BOSSUET

(1627-1704)

BY ADOLPHE COHN

Jaques Bénigne Bossuet, sacred orator, historian, theologian, and controversialist, was born in Dijon, capital of the then Burgundy, on September 27th, 1627. There is no question but he is the greatest Catholic divine whom France ever knew, and one of the greatest, some say _the_ greatest, of prose writers and orators of that country. His importance in the literary history of France is due, moreover, not simply to the high excellence of his productions, but fully as much to their representative character. The power that was wielded with absolute authority by Louis XIV. found in Bossuet the theorist who gave it a philosophical basis, and justified to the Frenchmen of the seventeenth century the conditions under which they lived.

The future educator of Louis XIV.'s son sprang, like most of the great Frenchmen of that time, from the upper ranks of the _bourgeoisie_. The Bossuet family had been for a long time honorably connected with the legal profession and the judiciary: the father of Jacques Bénigne was in 1627 a counselor practicing before the "Parlement de Dijon," where his own father had sat as "Conseiller," or Associate Justice. Later in life he was himself called to a seat on the bench, when a new Parlement was organized in the city of Metz for the province of Lorraine (1638). Ten years later (January 24th, 1648) Bossuet, who had received his education partly from the Jesuits of Dijon, partly in the celebrated Collège de Navarre in Paris, and who had been shriven for the Catholic priesthood when only eight years of age, made what may be called his first public appearance when he defended his first thesis in theology. With this important event of his life we find connected the name of the most brilliant Frenchman of that time, the celebrated Prince de Condé,--famous already by many victories, though hardly twenty-six years of age,--who attended the disputation and had allowed the young theologian to dedicate his thesis to him. Thirty-nine years later, after a long period of close friendship, their names were again associated when the illustrious Bishop of Meaux delivered the funeral oration of the great warrior, and announced, at the close of a magnificent eulogy, that this would be the last occasion on which he would devote his oratory to the praises of any man; a promise which he kept, though he outlived his friend for no less than seventeen years.

Bossuet's period of study lasted until the year 1652, when at the age of twenty-five he was appointed Archdeacon of Sarrebourg. By virtue of his position he thenceforward, for no less than seven years, resided in Metz, a city whose peculiar position, especially in religious matters, exerted a powerful influence over the direction of his whole intellectual life. He found there what was very rare then in France, representatives of three religions. In addition to the Catholics to whom he was to minister, there were in Metz numerous Protestants,--both Lutherans, and Calvinists or Presbyterians,--and a not inconsiderable number of Jews; and the city was used to continuous theological controversy between minister, rabbi, and priest. The Protestants of Metz received the teachings of two brilliant ministers, David Ancillon and Paul Ferri, the latter of whom soon published a Catechism which was considered by the whole body of French Protestantism the clearest exposition of its doctrines. The Catholic clergy of France had then not yet renounced the hope of bringing all the inhabitants of the country to place themselves voluntarily under the spiritual guidance of Rome; and the conversions that were announced from time to time from the upper ranks both of Protestantism and Judaism to a certain degree justified such a hope.

Bossuet, while constantly improving his knowledge of the writings of the Fathers, especially of St. Augustine, threw himself into the contest with characteristic energy. As against the Jews he tried to demonstrate that the coming of Christ is clearly foretold in the Prophecies. He thus became more familiar with the Old Testament than any other Catholic theologian of his time, and so far molded his style on that of the Bible that it soon became difficult to distinguish in his productions that which came out of the sacred writings from the utterances which belonged only to him. This was done, however, strange to say, without any knowledge of the Hebrew language. Bossuet never read the Bible except in Greek or Latin. There was no good French version of the Bible; and it may be stated here that there is none to the present day which occupies in the French language anything like the position held in English by the Bible of King James, or in German by Luther's version.

His attitude in regard to the Protestants is more interesting, because more characteristic of the time in which he lived. France in the seventeenth century had become convinced that harmony, unity, fixedness, are the clearest manifestations of truth, the best guarantees of peace, happiness, and prosperity; that variety and change are signs of error and harbingers of disaster. Bossuet's whole effort in his controversy with Protestantism was directed towards demonstrating that Protestantism lacks and that Catholicism possesses the traits which were considered by his contemporaries to clearly belong to truth; and as his opponents were not unwilling to follow him on his chosen ground, as they never for a moment denied his main proposition,--his statement of the characteristics of truth,--as he even managed during the controversy to bring about a number of conversions to Catholicism, he left Metz fully convinced that he was waging a successful warfare upon unassailable ground.

He had been in Paris less than a year when an event happened which made him doubly sure of the soundness of his position, and tenfold increased his belief in the ultimate victory of his Church over all other denominations. The Commonwealth of England collapsed, and Charles II. was called to the throne from which his father had been hurled by Oliver Cromwell. Nothing can give any idea of the shock experienced by France on hearing of the development and success of the Great Rebellion in England. No Frenchman at that time understood what the English Constitution was. The course of French history had led the people of France to put all the strength they possessed in the hands of their kings, and to treat as a public enemy any one who resisted, or even attempted to limit in any way, the royal authority. To people holding such opinions the English nation after the month of January, 1649, appeared as a nation of parricides. And the feeling was intensified by the fact that the wife of the beheaded king, Henrietta Maria, was a sister of the King of France, a daughter of the beloved Henry IV., whose death by Ravaillac's dagger was still mourned by every French patriot. The triumph of Cromwell, the proud position which England occupied in Europe during his protectorate, left however hardly any hope that the rebellious nation would ever acknowledge the errors of her ways; and lo! in a moment, without any effort on his part, without any struggle, the dead king's son resumed his rights, and every one who had been in arms against him lay prostrate at his feet. The same nation that had rebelled against the levying of the "ship money" and the proceedings of the Star Chamber allowed Charles II. almost as absolute an authority as ever the King of France possessed. Once cured of her political errors, was England not to be soon cured of her theological errors? After repenting her rebellion against the King, was she not to repent her rebellion against the Pope? Such were the questions which Bossuet, which the whole of France, began to ask. Or rather, these were to them no longer questions: the people of France began to look across the Channel with confident expectation of a religious counter-revolution. The collapse of the Commonwealth could not but be followed by the collapse of the Reformation.

When Louis XIV., after Cardinal Mazarin's death, took in his own hands the management of the affairs of the State; when the marriage of the brilliant Henrietta of England with the Duke of Orleans made the sister of the English King a sister-in-law to the King of France; when triumph after triumph on the field of war, of diplomacy, of literature, of art, added to the power and glory of France, which had never swerved in her allegiance either to King or Church,--the feeling grew that only in unity of Faith, Law, and King were truth and prosperity to be found by nations. The saying "Une foi, une loi, un roi" (one faith, one law, one king), which may be said to sum up Bossuet's religious, social, and political beliefs, seemed to all an incontrovertible and self-evident axiom.